Stormfronts
by TopToBottomTibbs
Summary: How far would you go to get to someone you loved? A devastating storm leaves DC battered and bruised and Gibbs trapped. Can Tony get there in time? In this story, the rescue is only the beginning. This is a co-authored fic by DiNozzosProbie and MyShame7, we hope you'll give it a read. First chapters are T with M in later entries. Contains Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**YAY! We're so happy you found us!**

**Welcome to a new special edition combined fic from DiNozzosProbie and MyShame7**

**Sometime back in July over on twitter we hatched the idea (perhaps drunkenly) of writing this fic. Since we were both working on other projects it took awhile to get it to you, our lovely readers, but HERE IT IS!**

**Format: At the beginning we have traded off writing whole chapters so chapter one will be written by one author from one character POV, chapter 2 by the second author from another POV, etc, etc. Eventually we will write alternating POVs within each chapter and you'll just have to guess who wrote what! Each of us have our own unique style and we hope that this will make reading this fic just as much fun as writing it has been for us. **

**Warnings: Contains language, sexual imagery and situations, *SLASH*. The first few chapters will be fairly safe but it's us so you can count on us earning that M rating later. **

**Disclaimer: We do not own NCIS, its characters or anything at all related to the show. We do not seek to make any kind of income from this venture and merely think the characters deserve to have a healthy loving relationship and, lets face it, get laid once in awhile. No copyright infringement intended, so PLEASE don't sue us poor fangirls!**

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><p>Tony tapped absently at the piano keys, felt their slick, cool surfaces slip beneath his fingertips without paying much heed to the sounds that emerged.<p>

The room around him disappeared. He disappeared. Couldn't feel anymore, hear anymore, see anymore. Nothing but the memory. Nothing but the taste and smell and-God help him- the _feel_ of the man he could not get out of his brain no matter how hard he tried lately.

Tony didn't do this. He didn't pine, or daydream, or shudder at the memory of a firm hand against the base of his spine, of the heat of that splayed palm seeping through his skin. He didn't do it with women, he certainly didn't do it with men, and he most decidedly did not do it with Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Women were a challenge, a game he played when he wanted soft curves and platitudes, gentle caresses and silken skin after the thrill of the chase. Men he fucked- sometimes the other way around depending on his particular appetites-but that was where it ended.

But Gibbs…Gibbs was in a different category. Kind of a 'No Way in Hell' category in Tony's mind. Boss, definitely, respected leader, certainly, trusted friend…after the last few months he was pretty sure he had to slide this one into the affirmative as well, but beyond that, well, it wasn't even an option.

And yet here he was, drowning in his own melancholia, stewing in his own wretched cowardice and indecision, his seeming inability to let things be as they had been. It wouldn't be so frustrating if he could find a way to move backward or forward, to let this _thing_ that had his heart and his head and his stomach all tied in one big knot either unravel or coalesce into whatever it was going to be. But his arms were heavy and his feet were hopelessly stuck to the floor and he couldn't _move _anymore for fear of tripping over his own uncertainty.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Not tonight.

This was the first Friday evening he had spent in his own apartment in…well, it had been months, certainly. In truth he'd lost track of the whens and hows and whys of the regular ritual he had begun with Gibbs. He couldn't remember who'd started it, who'd continued it, but he knew that it had become almost as necessary to him as air, as vital as the blood that pumped hard and hot through his veins.

And tonight he was alone. Alone when he wanted to run. Not from something as he had done for the majority of his life, but _towards…_he didn't really know what yet. All he knew was that the only thing in the world he wanted was to get in his car and drive, walk through the door that was always open to him, descend into the cool depths of that old, slightly musty house and fill his lungs with the warm, soothing scent of Gibbs. Of sweat and coffee and Bourbon and varnish and sweet sweet sawdust.

It had been an odd day.

It had started that morning when he'd been woken up by the first wet dream he could remember having since he was a horny teenager. He'd lay panting in the darkness, tangled and trembling in hopelessly soiled sheets, stiff cock still spurting out the echoes of the pleasurable convulsions that had jolted him from a restless slumber where damp flesh moved and writhed beneath his searching hands, soft lips danced across his skin, and a stiff cock-_oh, GOD, he was dreaming about the man's cock-_had thrust against his own until…until…

This wasn't one of those dreams that started out normal and ended up with an alien and a dinosaur sharing pizza with you in your living room. This started and finished with a very naked, very physical Leroy Jethro Gibbs and had felt real from beginning to end.

Too real, it appeared.

Tony had tried to shake it off, had tried to let the memories fade before he went to work but every time he closed his eyes he was there again, back in the throes, back in the firm and desperate embrace of Gibbs' arms. Shit, he'd had to jack off again in the shower just to make sure he didn't come in his pants the first time he saw the guy.

He'd felt it coming of course, had tried to ignore the warning signs. But as they spent more and more time together, as their comfortable moments turned into comfortable hours and occasionally whole days, there was no denying it. Despite his best efforts, despite his better judgment, despite every voice in his head _screaming _at him that _THIS WAS NOT SOMETHING HE COULD HAVE, _he was falling, and he was falling hard.

It had started so slowly. A few innocent sweeps of the older man's fingertips when he passed him a beer that sent jolts of electricity up his spine, a warm hand on his back that lingered familiarly as Jethro pointed out something he'd missed on the project he'd given him, the slow drip of a bead of sweat down Gibbs' neck, past the hollow of his throat that pulled at Tony's eyes, made him follow the progress of that tiny drop beneath the frayed edge of a t-shirt, all the while wondering what it would taste like on the tip of his tongue.

And Gibbs was oblivious. At least Tony hoped to hell he was.

But there was something. He didn't believe it was wholly his imagination.

A few times he'd caught Gibbs studying him. Maybe across the bullpen, or at a scene, more often than not on quiet Sundays in each other's company after a rough weekend on call while they watched whatever game sounded best over a couple of beers on the couch. But it was happening more frequently lately and in those odd and unexpected moments, Tony had been surprised by the expression on the older man's face, the furrow of his brow that said he was struggling with something, trying to solve a puzzle he'd never encountered before, and those brief and bare seconds had given him a kind of hope. The kind of hope that was decidedly dangerous to have around a man like Gibbs because Tony was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to hide it effectively for very much longer. If he even was now.

The dream had been the clincher for him. The glaring warning beacon that said he needed some space, time to cool off before things really got out of hand, and since he couldn't just skip out on work that left him with only one option.

He'd hated to do it really. Since they'd started hanging out regularly he'd never once cancelled. And it wasn't like they had a formal plan or anything. It was just _assumed_ that it was a Friday night that they weren't on call and Tony would be over after he'd showered, changed, and grabbed a six pack. What they did didn't seem to matter to him or to Gibbs, only that they did it together. And the crazy thing about it was that Gibbs had looked _disappointed _when he'd mentioned that he had other plans for the evening. For the whole weekend, in fact. Tony wanted desperately to believe that he was seeing things but there was really no mistaking it. He'd seen surprise on the older man's face in the bare instant before he could school his features and hide the reaction. Surprise and…hurt. Both so quick and so sharp that he could _almost_ convince himself they were never there.

Almost.

After that, Tony had caught Gibbs looking at him a few times during the day. Giving him those few extra searching seconds when he'd come to give a report, the opening to explain _why. _But Tony had turned away each time, feeling the words, the confession, burning in his throat.

A flash of light out the window brought him back to the present and he realized the room had grown remarkably dark around him. For a moment he was half-convinced he had become lost in thought for hours rather than minutes but the ticking clock on the wall said that that it was only 7PM, far too early for sunset in late June.

Another flash and he understood, turned full body to watch the angry roiling clouds that seemed to be moving like a low and encroaching wall toward the deeper heart of the city from the southwest.

Tony wasn't really surprised. He hadn't bothered to listen to a weather forecast but the air around him today had felt thick and heavy, warm even for early summer, and there was a sense of anticipation hanging over everything. He'd chalked that feeling up to his own mental state but as he pressed his palm to the window, felt it vibrate with the echoes of a deep roll of thunder, he knew he'd been feeling the build of this storm without realizing it.

He had a pretty spectacular view from his 6th floor apartment. There weren't many high rise buildings between him and the Potomac and its valley spread out below him, allowing him to take in a broad vista of green parks mixed in with various forms of development and watch the storm's approach from the Southwest.

The color of the light outside was strange and he was half-tempted to go out there, to feel the energy of what appeared to be a pretty nasty storm as it bore down on him, to let the tempest raging inside him be one with that power. For just a moment he closed his eyes and let it flow through him, felt the tremble and the rush as it moved closer. His skin prickled and twitched, hairs standing on end as the room continued to darken.

Tony jumped as a bolt of lightning struck ground somewhere immediately to his south. Thunder rolled, audible even through triple insulated windows this time and there was suddenly something sharper about it than a gentle spring storm, something more ominous and insistent that forced him back from the glass.

His eyes were drawn to the ground where people scurried by in business suits, carrying brief cases and stopping to glance nervously at the sky above them at every ominous rumble. A group of school children in neatly pressed uniforms were quickly led by a harried looking parent or teacher –he had no idea which-into another apartment building at the end of the block. Something seemed…off about the whole scene and Tony noticed that the trees lining his street stood almost unnaturally limp and still in stark contrast to the bustling activity and fast building storm. He immediately had a sense of foreboding he couldn't explain, a sense he had learned to trust no matter how irrational it seemed and he was about to turn on his television and watch a weather report when his lights flickered and surged, flickered and went out again, plunging the apartment into eerily green darkness.

"Shit," he muttered, stepping carefully as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the change in illumination. Tony glanced back out the window. A moment ago he'd been able to see lights in apartments and businesses around him, streetlights on earlier than they should be. Now there was only darkness. To his north a faint glow told him there was likely power in other areas but to his south he saw nothing but the grey outlines of lifeless structures.

There was a flashlight and a battery operated radio under his kitchen sink, habits of preparedness instilled in him by Gibbs and maintained by experience. He made his way around the piano by feel and grabbed his cell from where he'd left it, resting on the bench.

He had made it half way across the living room before a flash of light blinded him temporarily. His bare toes met something cold, hard, and heavy and he cursed, nearly losing his balance. Flexing his foot to assure himself that nothing was broken, he continued his journey into the deeper darkness of the kitchen where the almost non-existent light from the windows did not penetrate.

Moving by memory alone, he retrieved the two items he sought without further incident, somehow comforted when the Maglite's strong beam brought light to the shadows around him.

A sound caught his ear and took a moment to register. The distant wail of a siren pierced the heavily soundproofed building but just barely. Tony's brain finally lit on the source of the unfamiliar howl and he sprang into action on instinct.

Tornado sirens rang in the city from time to time, once a year or so at least. Most of the time he took note of them, stayed on alert, but didn't feel the need to take things any further. Now, as his windows began to rattle ominously it was clear this threat needed to be heeded a bit more seriously than most.

The first thing he did was to turn on the radio and set it on the kitchen table as he moved about other tasks. The receiver was already tuned to the emergency alert station so a droning voice immediately greeted him in the middle of its looping message.

'…_for Southern Fairfax County and all of the Washington D.C. metro area until 8:05PM Eastern Time. National Weather Service radar indicates a line of intense thunderstorm activity moving in a line from the Southwest at 35 miles per hour. At 7:15PM a trained spotter reported a large funnel cloud accompanying this storm system near Springfield. The storms are expected to impact the following areas: Springfield, Falls Church, Alexandria, Arlington, Washington D.C….'_

The rest registered in the back of his brain as he crammed his go-bag with extra water, a few protein bars, another flashlight, a more heavy duty first aid kit, all things he hoped he didn't need. The voice continued to warn of damaging straight line winds, baseball sized hail, and torrential downpours but he had heard enough. Enough to know that the sixth floor of a building with a solid wall of windows wasn't necessarily the safest place for him to be when the threat was this certain.

When he'd fit all he could into his bag and grabbed the radio, he made one last sweep of the apartment with the flashlight before heading out. With any luck at all the storm would blow by and this was all for naught but he had a bad feeling about this one in his gut and he wasn't willing to wait it out.

Other tenants-he didn't really think of them as his neighbors since he'd never taken the time to get to know them- were out in the hallway talking to each other, looking nervously between the bank of elevators and the windows at the end of the corridor.

"Use the stairs, everyone to the basement as quickly as you can," Tony said in a loud, authoritative voice as he moved through them.

The funny thing about people is that, in a crisis, every one of them is looking for someone who will take charge. Today, Tony was that person.

He didn't have to look back to know that people were following him. He could hear the woman with the yapping dog from 616, the bickering elderly couple from 622, all close on his heels. And Tony wore authority well. Maybe he wasn't intending to, maybe he didn't want to, but it was his now whether he liked it or not and he held the heavy stairwell door, waiting for the last of his fellow apartment dwellers to begin their rapid descent before he started down himself.

Tony took a moment to stop on street level and get a look outside as the rest of the group continued down another flight and could easily see that the storm was on them in earnest now. The ground outside the front stoop was white, littered with varying sized chunks of ice that rained down from above and bounced off whatever they struck before settling on the concrete and the noise was like nothing he had ever heard.

Color suddenly caught his eye through the downpour, a battered umbrella clutched by a woman clinging desperately to the trunk of a large tree and trying to take shelter. He immediately ran to the door and pushed it open against the resistance of howling wind, only to have it ripped from his hand by a counter gust. It crashed against the side of the building and shattered, showering the sidewalk with safety glass fragments. Leaves and small branches rained down around him as he beckoned to the petrified woman who appeared too scared to move from her current position. Closer inspection revealed that she was bleeding from a cut on her forehead and that her clothing was torn in a few places.

Cursing his own damn overdeveloped sense of responsibility, Tony dropped his bag in the now-open foyer near the bank of mailboxes, hiked his NCIS slicker up over his head as a completely ineffective shield against the hail, and dashed out into the storm. He half-carried the crying woman back to the shelter of the building and just made it inside as a thick bolt of lightning hit far closer than he was comfortable with and sent them fleeing deeper into the lobby with the sting of ozone in their nostrils and the deafening crash of thunder on their heels.

"You're gonna have to let go of me, okay?" Tony said calmly to his rescued storm victim who had flung her arms tightly around his neck and was clinging to him desperately while speaking very rapidly in a language he couldn't understand but which sounded pretty close to Chinese.

With a sigh, he pried damp fingers from around his neck, retrieved his bag and then made a hasty retreat to the stairwell with his new best friend in tow. For the first time he noticed several other tenants milling around the first floor. He didn't recognize any of them but they were all staring at him in wide-eyed astonishment as he dripped water all over the rich marble.

"Basement. Now," he said simply, once again holding the door open as at least a dozen people in various states of dress filtered through. Some had flashlights, some carried small pets, but they all went without question as the thunder crashed again over the continued wail of sirens and gusts of wind blew sheets of rain through the now non-existent door.

Tony could feel the weight of the cell phone in his pocket. There was one call he was dying to make, one voice he needed to hear to tell him that his world was okay but it would have to wait.

_Gibbs…_


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE: Thanks to everyone for your feedback and support. Glad you like the take charge Tony in the last chapter. This chapter is from Gibbs' point of view.

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><p>The late June air was thick, heavy, and still. According to the nasally voiced female news anchor on the radio, a line of powerful thunderstorms was fast approaching and was projected to hit the D.C. metro area and surrounding suburbs within the next two hours. A pair of staff meteorologists was brought in to educate the populace on storm track models, wind velocities, dew points, inflow, outflow, and bow echoes showing up on Doppler radar.<p>

Gibbs tuned out most of the banal chit-chat but snorted at the rather dramatic announcement that "the National Weather Service had just upgraded the current severe thunderstorm watch for southern Fairfax County and the D.C. metro area to a tornado watch". Thunderstorms were common this time of year, often reaching severe status with high winds, heavy rain, and hail, so he didn't pay much attention to the meteorologists' ominous warning to be prepared for the worst and to know when to immediately seek shelter.

"Yeah, no shit," he muttered before turning the knob on the dash to silence the grating voices running down their bullet point list of 'dos and don'ts' during severe weather.

The windshield wipers beat out a steady tempo keeping his field of vision clear from the light steady rain that had begun to fall. Gibbs slowed to only slightly over the posted speed limit as he navigated the all too familiar streets that would lead him home. Home. In truth, the roads would lead him to a two story suburban Alexandria, Virginia house, which he hadn't considered a home for the better part of twenty years. No longer full of love and a child's laughter, it was just the place where his mail was delivered and where he slept - alone.

Each attempt to recapture the idea of home and family had failed spectacularly. Cheap copies of Shannon paraded through his life over the years, some sticking around longer than others, but none of them ever found a place in his heart. He had tried to move on, to start over and live again, but all he could manage was to go through the motions. Three failed marriages were proof enough that he wasn't ready or willing to give his heart to anyone - until now.

Aside from Jackson, the only people Gibbs thought of as family were Tony, McGee, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, and even to some degree, Jimmy Palmer. The last time he had seen any of his blood relatives was at Shannon and Kelly's funeral. Those that bothered to show up to pay their respects were little comfort to him then, and he didn't give any of them much thought now. Jackson kept him apprised of any family news he caught wind of, but Gibbs really wasn't interested. Each member of his dysfunctional NCIS family meant more to him than any of his aunts, uncles, or cousins ever did.

His true home, or so he wished and frequently fantasized, was miles away in the form of his gorgeous Italian Senior Field Agent. When he began developing more than platonic feelings for the interminably annoying, womanizing former frat boy, Gibbs could not say. It could have been when Tony came dangerously close to dying after contracting pneumonic plague, or perhaps it was more recently when a very attractive young FBI agent turned his non-too subtle attention to him during a charity FBI/NCIS flag football game.

Tony was a master at the art of flirting and gave as good as he got, but it was the provocative way Agent Ty Mills sidled up to him that sparked Gibbs' jealousy. Over a few pitchers of beer courtesy of the losing FBI team, Gibbs sat across the table and paid close attention to Mills, whose eyes rarely left Tony and whose chair crept ever closer to him. Tony's only reaction to the invasion of his personal space was a polite smile. If Tony had any interest in Mills, he gave nothing away.

It wasn't until the following Monday morning at work after some sibling-like teasing from McGee about the folded napkin he saw Mills stuff into Tony's track suit jacket pocket that Tony fessed up.

"Well yeah, of course it's flattering when someone slips you their phone number McNosy, but he's not exactly my type," Tony declared, hazarding a glance across the bullpen to find Gibbs staring at him.

Gibbs had never considered the possibility that Tony might be anything other than straight, if the stories of his conquests were to be believed, so he wasn't sure what to make of the pointed look and subtle smile directed at him. Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if he had given off a possesive vibe at the bar.

Almost from the day they first met, Tony had seamlessly insinuated himself into Gibbs' life. Probably not intentionally, but since Tony started working under him their relationship seemed to be in a constant state of flux. There was a certain symmetry and sense of co-dependency in play that had never truly been defined. Were they simply respected boss and competent subordinate, mentor and student, friends and trusted colleagues, or was there something more to be discovered? Gibbs wanted and needed to know, and he suddenly felt hopeful.

Over the last few months, they had started spending more and more time together outside of work. What had started innocently enough as Supervisory Agent meeting with Senior Field Agent to discuss ways to make their well-rounded team even better opened the door to opportunities to really get to know the man, the loyal Saint Bernard who had been by his side and on his six for a decade. Like everything with Gibbs, it started out hesitant and cautious with absolutely no expectations.

Invitations by Gibbs to stop by for cowboy-style steaks became more frequent as did Tony showing up at semi-regular intervals with either a cold six-pack or a pizza, or sometimes both, in hand ostensibly to watch a football or baseball game with him. One Friday afternoon, Gibbs made a comment about spending his first weekend off in ages doing much needed yardwork, which resulted in Tony showing up Saturday morning, armed with a box of assorted donuts and a large thermos of gourmet dark roast coffee, to offer his services.

With no idea what the younger man was thinking or feeling about the gradual shift in their relationship, Gibbs wisely chose to tread carefully. He wanted to be damn sure where he stood before risking the most important relationship, if one dared call it that, in his otherwise lonely life. Overstepping or misreading any subtle tells and cryptic signals could lead to disaster, a risk Gibbs wasn't sure he could take. If Tony was meant to be nothing more than his most trusted friend, so be it. He would hate it, but he would learn to live with it.

To Gibbs, Tony had always been an enigma; a walking, talking totally unique jumble of contradiction. He could shift from behaving like a sophomoric adolescent to extremely competent investigator within the span of seconds. His playful, prankster, movie quoting persona could be, and often was, extremely irritating yet proved to be a very effective training tool.

After years of being subjected to Tony's harmless though often demeaning form of hazing, McGee had finally grown a backbone and began to assert himself. Getting one over on his annoying superior ranking teammate, while earning a rare "atta boy" from the Boss for being the one to uncover the big case-breaking clue, gave McGee a much needed confidence boost. Tony's unique brand of training wasn't lost on Gibbs, either. Intentional or not, Tony earned each and every head slap, but the tiny hint of a Cheshire cat grin on his face when McGee scored a win told Gibbs everything. More times than not, McGee only broke the case after Tony artfully led him right to the missing piece of the puzzle.

Ziva was a tougher nut to crack, so competent Tony took over to mentor her and build her skills as an investigator. It took a few years of patient guidance to help her see things as a cop instead of as a Mossad-trained ninja assassin. When the situation called for it, Tony happily let her do the heavy lifting when her Kidon skills were needed. He knew she was tough and positively lethal with or without an arsenal of weapons at her disposal, but he saw so much more. She was both beautiful and intelligent, which often caused suspects to underestimate her. Tony pushed and coached her to trust her instincts, to read between the lines, and to always look past the obvious. She proved to be a quick study.

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><p>Pulling into the garage, Gibbs switched off the ignition and listened to the cooling tick of the Challenger's engine. He pressed the button of the garage door opener attached to the visor, closed his eyes, and sighed tiredly. His gut was in knots, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Climbing out of the car he decided that barring Tony having a last minute change of heart, tonight would be a good night to lose himself in his unconventional method of meditation - sanding the newly constructed hull of the boat.<p>

The first order of business when he walked into kitchen from the garage was to start a pot of coffee. Bourbon, boat and basement normally went together, but his churning gut told him he needed to be alert and not numbed by booze. He made his way through the dining room and living room in the relative darkness of the stormy late afternoon while the coffee brewed and headed up the stairs to change his clothes.

Brilliant flashes of lightning followed by loud rumbles of thunder in the distance signaled the impending arrival of the thunderstorm as Gibbs changed into a beat up pair of cut off jean shorts and a faded paint and varnish stained t-shirt. Crew-length socks and a pair of Timberland boots completed the ensemble. He chuckled as he tied the boot laces. The first time Tony had seen him decked out in his standard woodworking gear, he declared Gibbs to be a "walking fashion disaster."

Thermal travel mug in hand, Gibbs flipped the switch on the wall and sipped his hot, black as tar coffee as he descended the stairs. A few bare 75-watt light bulbs screwed into bases affixed to the overhead floor joists cast plenty of light without being harsh or glaring. Strictly out of habit, he switched on the old 13-inch black and white TV he kept on a shelf across the room from his workbench. He was greeted by the opening applause of a studio audience to a Doctor Somebody he had never heard of. The TV was just there as background noise until the local evening news came on.

Running his hand over the newly placed boards Gibbs determined that 80-grit sandpaper was in order. The feel of the bare virgin wood under his bare hand immediately grounded him. His careful and reverent examination was tantamount to caressing a new lover for the first time. Each knot and imperfection in the grain was a unique characteristic that he could shape and tame with his skilled hands.

His earlier thoughts faded away as he became in tune with the wood while he sanded. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as he became soley focused on the task at hand. His muscles rippled and danced beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, which began sticking to his sweaty chest and back. Except for being caught in the throes of making almost animalistic passionate love, there was no better workout in the world.

Gibbs ignored the increasing flashes of lightning and shorter intervals before the thunder followed as he concentrated on one board that seemed unwilling to bend to his will. The TV signal was lost a few times after particularly intense flashes of lightning, but that was nothing new. The old Quasar had long outlived its life expectancy, but it normally took only a swift smack or two to the side and top to fix the vertical or horizontal hold when it acted up.

After making a second trip upstairs to refill his coffee, Gibbs wondered if he should call Tony but quickly dismissed the idea. As far as he knew Tony hadn't canceled their plans because of a date. Last he heard, according to Abby anyway, Tony had decided to take a break from dating. Maybe that was why he was showing up at his house more frequently, sitting on the stairs or on a dusty sawhorse, chatting about everything and nothing while he worked on the boat. Leaning back against the counter, Gibbs sighed and stared blankly at the floor as the storm continued to rage outside the window beside him. No, obviously Tony had other plans he didn't want to share, or maybe he just wanted a night to himself, or maybe, just maybe, Tony was just as confused about where things stood.

For a brief time, Gibbs had suspected that something was going on between Tony and Ziva. After their respective disastrous relationships with E.J. Barrett and Ray Cruz, it wouldn't have surprised him if they turned to each other for comfort. He didn't confront Tony or ask for confirmation. If there had been something going on, he didn't want to force Tony to lie to him about breaking Rule 12. Based on their stormy history and some lingering trust issues, Gibbs soon became fairly certain that nothing had developed romantically between them.

Lost in thought again as he pushed off of the counter on this way back to the basement, Gibbs failed to notice the decidedly eerie green hue the sky had taken on, or the angry looking clouds building to the southwest. He paused only for a second or two when the lights flickered before again descending the stairs leading down to his sanctuary.

A drop of sweat splashed onto the board Gibbs had been concentrating on sanding. He turned and placed the sanding block on the workbench then pulled a bandana from his pocket and wiped away the sweat threatening to trickle into his eyes. A sharp rapid 'ping ping' sound got his attention. Looking out the small basement windows he could see pea-sized hailstones bounce on the grass and leaves from the neighbor's maple tree blowing across the lawn.

Turning to the TV he saw a banner on the screen about a weather alert, but before the nearly panicked bleach blonde anchor began to speak the screen turned to snow and the sound to static. The usual couple of whacks on the top and side did nothing.

"Shit," Gibbs muttered when he felt a sudden change in air pressure, and heard much larger wind-driven hail stones bounce off the window panes and siding.

Moving to stand on the second from the bottom step he got his first good look out the small window at the tempest raging outside. The sky was a swirling mass of ominous gray-green that he hadn't seen in years. Tree limbs were stressed to the breaking point by straight line winds. The house creaked and groaned.

Suddenly fearing the worst, Gibbs grabbed the long slender Maglite flashlight from its charger mounted on the wall next to the workbench. No sooner had he switched it on, the lights dimmed, flickered a few times, then went out. The fierce wind and hail stopped and everything went oddly still. In the midst of the relative calm, the siren at the elementary school two blocks began to wail.

Hearing a distinct roar building in the distance off to the west, Gibbs pulled out his phone as he took shelter under the massive heavy structure of the boat. He flipped it open and pressed speed-dial 1 to call Tony's cell number. As he waited for the call to connect, he reached out and grabbed two old blankets that were piled in the nearby corner. After three rings the call went to voicemail, and the last words he heard before a loud sustained crash were a cheerfully chirped, "Hi! You've reached Very Special Agent Anthony Di...".


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this adventure and let us know how much enjoyment you're finding in it! We're having just as much fun. _**

**_Happy Tibbs..._**

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><p><em>Gibbs…<em>

Tony tried hard to listen for any break in the static over the animated chatter of the building's basement-displaced tenants as he slowly turned the tuner on his portable radio. So far all he had been able to hear down in the bowels of the basement was the same monotone automatic warning that had been on a constant loop upstairs which told them the various dangers that might well be ravaging the world above-ground but nothing more.

All told, he estimated that there were close to 50 people huddled in the dark corridor between assigned storage spaces and waiting out the storm. Occasionally, the beam of a flashlight blinded him momentarily or an unknown someone brushed against him, causing him to pause in his search. Acutely aware that all eyes were on him now, he tried to tune out the nervous mutterings around him.

Once his final little group had arrived in the basement to join those already gathered and after he'd managed to pry her strangling arms from around his neck, Tony had used his first aid kit to patch up the young woman from the street. She spoke fractured English but was able to communicate that her name was Chen and she lived with her family in an apartment a few blocks away. The wound to her temple was quite a gash and she was likely going to need stitches when everything was over but at least she was conscious. When she had calmed enough he'd deposited her into the hands of the only other person in the room that looked to be of Asian descent-an older man who said he lived on the 3rd floor and still seemed a bit dazed- with a few instructions and hoped for the best.

People kept asking him things like, 'When will it be safe?' and, 'When will the power come back on?' and, 'Do you think they'll reschedule tonight's 'American Idol' because of the storm?' as if he suddenly had the answers to everything simply because he knew how to keep a cool head in a crisis.

He was probably going to have to move after this.

"Are you a cop?" A not-wholly unpleasant voice came at Tony out of the darkness and a bright beam shone in his eyes until he put his hand up with an annoyed look on his face.

"Kind of." He wasn't in the mood for long explanations right now and he had almost run out of room on the radio's dial.

"How do you get to be 'kind of' a cop?" annoyingly-curious guy persisted.

"Used to be a cop. A detective, actually." Tony couldn't say why he felt the need to add that last part. "Now I'm a Federal Investigator with NCIS." Perhaps that would shut him up.

"NCI what?"

Apparently not, although somehow his congenial inquisitor made the question sound a bit less offensive than it usually did. "I investigate crimes that involve US Navy or Marine personnel and terrorist activities that target our armed forces at home and abroad," he recited with just a touch of irritation, giving up and turning the radio back to the drone of the weather warning.

"Sounds like quite a job." The words came with a note of, what sounded like, slightly awed respect as well as intrigued curiosity.

"It has its moments." Tony gave a frustrated sigh and finally stood to look eye to eye at his interrogator in the dim light. The man, perhaps a few years older than him, looked like he might very well be the type of guy who spent considerable time in a laboratory or behind a computer terminal somewhere. He wasn't bad looking, was maybe even quietly sexy in an utterly geeky way, but with shrewd eyes that weighed and assessed everything around him. Tony was struck by the laughable thought that this guy might be the unholy result of a McGee/ Gibbs love child. "I'm Tony," he offered reluctantly, unable to think of another way to move on.

"Brian," the other man acknowledged with a nod of his head. "I'm in 522. Don't think I've seen you around the building before." He flashed a brilliant smile.

The statement had the feel of the most awkward bar pick up line Tony'd ever heard. Holy fuck, the guy was actually hitting on him. "I'm not home much," Tony answered absently, only giving half of his attention to the interaction at hand. His head was most definitely somewhere else.

"Me either," Brian continued, obviously undeterred by Tony's scattered interest. "Mostly nights. But it's just me so, you know, no one to answer to if things run late at the office." He hadn't even tried to hide the implication in that little piece of information.

Tony had to hand it to the guy, he wasn't shy. He realized that not too long ago, under different circumstances, he might have tried to take advantage of the situation himself, but right now his brain and his gut were tied up with only one thought. "Excuse me for a second?" It wasn't exactly a shut-down, but it was clear his would-be suitor didn't quite know how to take his response so he proceeded without waiting for one in return.

He moved to the end of the dark hallway where a small window allowed a rather obscured view up through a set of bars. There wasn't much to see. A steady stream of water was flowing down the sides of the hollowed out space around the window and the small patch of sky above was still ominously dark, but at least it looked as if the hail had stopped. A flash of lightning made him draw back suddenly and rub his eyes against the unexpected brightness of it. Taking a few steps away from the wall, Tony flipped open his cell. He'd tried to call Gibbs the first second he'd gotten a free moment down here but the signal was patchy and he wasn't able to find a place strong enough for a call to go out. Next to the window, he had one bar so he decided to chance it and hurriedly pressed Jethro's speed dial code. Almost immediately a rapid busy signal sounded in his ear and he flipped the phone shut with a sigh. If the storm was that bad, it was likely that it could have taken a few cell towers off line and that the others were overloaded. Tony'd seen a number of his fellow refugees walking around in circles with their phones raised over their heads trying to get through with no success. Flipping his phone open again, he checked his battery. He was still at 85% and was thankful that he'd charged it before leaving work. Probably best to save it until he was more certain of a good connection.

When he returned to the radio, he found that many of his fellow tenants had huddled around it and seemed to be listening intently. It took him a few seconds to realize that the repeated message had stopped and a live reporter was speaking. Joining the throng, he strained to hear the staticy update, trying desperately to ignore the churning in his gut that was bothering him much more than it should be even over a storm this severe. The next 15 minutes or so held tentative reports of at least three tornadoes moving through the DC area leaving parts of the city heavily damaged. All around him people gasped and muttered to each other, but his ears stayed trained on the voice of the reporter. According to early information, which he knew could be either a drastic over or underestimation, several area roads were considered impassible due to flooding, hail had caused damage to windows, cars, roofs, and trees, and devastating structural damage to entire neighborhoods was being phoned in by observers. The list of reports was long but at the news of extensive destruction across a wide area north of the beltway in Alexandria, his heart jumped into his throat as his worst fears were suddenly realized. "I need to go," Tony whispered to no one in particular, staring into the dim light toward the source of sound.

He couldn't shake it, the sudden feeling, the need to flee, to get to wherever Jethro was. Flipping open his cell he moved back to the window and tried Gibbs' number again, getting the same frustrating signal. Tony realized his hand was shaking now as adrenaline flooded his system. Tornadoes he could handle but not the thought of something happening to Jethro. _Goddamn it, Gibbs, do not be at home tonight._ The words kept whispering like a silent prayer inside his head.

But Tony somehow knew he would be.

At the very least he could content himself with the thought that the older man was likely already in his basement when the storm hit but for some reason even that likelihood wasn't slowing his heart rate or the pounding of blood in his ears. Tony pressed the next number on his speed dial, really just randomly seeing if he could get a connection, and was surprised when it began to ring.

"_McGee."_ Tim's voice was clear in his ear, though the younger man sounded tense.

"McGee!" Tony nearly shouted into the receiver, "Where the hell are you?"

"_Still at NCIS. I was helping Abby with something and then the storm started and…"_

Tony cut him off. "Please tell me Gibbs is still there somewhere." He didn't like the sound of desperation in his own voice but there was nothing to be done about it now.

"_He left just after you did. Didn't look particularly happy either. What, you mean you haven't heard from him yet?"_

"No, Tim. I haven't heard from him yet," he snapped before he could catch himself. "He hasn't called you or Abby?"

"_No. Nothing. Ziva called in just before you did and she didn't mention hearing from him either. You don't think something's wrong, do you?"_ Tim sounded alarmed now as well.

He could hear the younger agent trying to keep Abby at bay in the background. "Don't know, Probie, but it sounds like his area was hit pretty hard. I just…I don't like the feel of this. I'm heading over there," Tony said resolutely.

"_Tony, that's miles away from you. Haven't you heard about the roads out there? No one's getting anywhere right now. They want everyone off the streets so emergency vehicles can get through but I guess a lot of people are stranded in their cars because of flooded roads, downed trees and power lines, and traffic lights that are out. They're having a hard time getting rescue crews in to the worst hit areas and…"_

"Unless I hear from him or get through to him in the next five minutes, I'm going to find him. You know he'd do the same for one of us if his gut told him to and mine's halfway out the door already." Tony glanced past the crowd behind him toward the elevator and stairwell.

"_Just be careful. And don't do anything stupid. It's gonna be dark soon." _Tim warned.

"Keep your phone on, McGee. And if you hear anything at all from Gibbs, call me." He flipped the phone shut and pushed his way through the group of tenants to begin gathering up his things from where he'd left them with his radio.

_Gibbs…_

"You're leaving?" His new curious friend suddenly appeared at his shoulder.

"Got a friend in Alexandria. Can't get him on the phone." He shoved his first aid kit into his backpack. "Besides, the worst of the storm is over now. It's safe to go back upstairs." As soon as he said the words he felt a wave of relief flutter around the room as those around him took his words for gospel.

"I can't believe you're thinking about going out in this. Didn't you hear what they said about the roads?" His new friend actually sounded just as concerned as McGee had which he thought unusual for a relative stranger.

"Don't have a choice. I'll drive as far as I can and then jog the rest of the way if I have to." Tony really hadn't thought too far past getting on the road to Gibbs' place. He'd never clocked it but he didn't think it could be more than 7 or 8 miles from Georgetown if he took the most direct route. He could run that if need be. Hell, for Gibbs he could run 20.

"That must be some friend," Brian said speculatively.

"Not just a friend, he's my boss. And he wouldn't think twice about going out in this if he was worried about me. Hell, he'd have left a half hour ago." As the words came out Tony felt the truth of them and something more besides.

Brian remained silent for a moment, watched Tony cram the last of his things into his pack. He seemed to be mulling something over. "I've got a scooter," Brian said, finally, "if you want to borrow it, that is. It's nothing fancy but I use it to commute back and forth in the summers. Should help you get around traffic anyway. Might get you further than your car," Brian offered.

Tony turned to look at the other man in the dim light, a ray of hope breaking through the darkness gathering around his heart for just one moment. "I owe you, big time," Tony said sincerely, reaching for his hand.

"Have dinner with me some night and thank me," Brian flashed a grin and Tony realized he wasn't just geeky handsome, he was handsome in that incredibly unnerving Clark Kent kind of way, the kind of way where devastatingly sexy lived right beneath the surface of unassuming and slightly awkward, dwelling unnoticed until it suddenly removed it's nerdy glasses and started sucking your cock. "Unless this boss-friend of yours has an objection to you having dinner with someone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I doubt he will." Tony shook his head. It was hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice even now. "But either way, sounds like a fair trade. I promise to bring it back." They started up the stairs together. Tony was a little unnerved to realize that under different circumstances he might actually be damn flattered by Brian's obvious intentions.

"Hey, it's not like I don't know where you live," Brian said as they made it to the lobby. "Just let me go upstairs and grab the keys."

The few minutes it took for Brian to run up five floors and back down again felt like hours to Tony. He surveyed the damage outside which didn't seem too horrific at first glance. A large puddle of water had been blown into the foyer area of the lobby where it was now unprotected by its broken door but it was nothing a mop and a broom wouldn't put right pretty quickly. In the street, things were a little worse but still manageable, at least here. The temperature had dropped noticeably and the heavy, moist air he'd noticed earlier had dissipated. The sky was still grey and a light misty rain was falling, but the clouds looked much less ominous, and he suspected part of the darkness was now due to the hour. Thunder still rumbled in the distance and the wail of sirens-ambulances and police cars this time- seemed to assault him from every side. There were tree limbs down in several areas of the few blocks he could see, some in the streets and some covering the sidewalk. Torn awnings flapped in the breeze in front of more than a few buildings, and the litter of shredded leaves was everywhere as a result of the hail. Car alarms wailed at him from seemingly every direction but only a few cars crept cautiously down the road, their drivers dodging debris and generally gawking at the damage.

Now that Tony was outside, he tried Gibbs' phone one last time and almost jumped out of his skin when it started to ring, but by the fourth ring he began to lose heart with every tone. Finally, he was flipped over to voicemail-a voicemail the older man had never bothered setting up-and Tony closed his cell yet again, somehow feeling an even greater sense of urgency to get on his way as soon as possible. It was one thing if his phone wouldn't let a call go through, to think that maybe Gibbs was trying just as desperately to reach him, but now that he'd made a connection and Gibbs wouldn't-his brain refused to do more that flutter fleetingly up against the word _couldn't-_answer, Tony was ready to start running. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump and brought him out of his head with a start.

"Hey," Brian said as Tony turned around quickly and pulled out of his grasp. He dangled the keys in front of the somewhat wild-eyed other man who snatched them hurriedly.

"Thanks again. I'll try to bring it back in one piece." DiNozzo didn't want to seem ungrateful for a favor he had not yet earned the right to so he forced his feet to stay on the pavement for just a minute longer.

"You'd better or you're going to owe me a hell of a lot more than a dinner date," Brian laughed before turning more serious again. "It's in spot number 37 in the garage. Helmet's on the back. I know we don't really know each other but I don't suppose I can talk you out of going out in this, huh? I've got a pretty expensive bottle of wine upstairs that I've been dying for an excuse to open," he said hopefully.

Tony shook his head firmly. "Not a chance in hell."

"Well then, I sure hope this boss of yours knows what a good guy he's got, but here's my card anyway." He handed Tony the expensive-feeling bit of card stock.

"If he does, I haven't heard much about it. Then again, he's not exactly the talkative type." The proffered card made him stop mid-turn and he took it quickly, glancing at the neatly printed name and credentials as well as the hand-written number across the top.

"That's too bad." For some reason Brian didn't sound completely disappointed. "Guy like you…well, let's just say it's too bad your boss can't really see what he's missing."

"You're a doctor?" Tony looked up at the other man as the title below his name caught his eye. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, doctoring or something? Must be a lot of hurt people out there."

"Not a lot of call for Pathology in an emergency like this. I spend most of my day looking at slides rather than people." He shrugged dismissively.

Tony had absolutely no response to that statement but it didn't matter because his feet were itching to move. "Listen, I don't mean to seem ungrateful or anything else you might think of me right now but…"

"You need to go," the other man finished with a knowing nod. "Go. And…be careful. You're the only neighbor I ever had even half an interest in getting to know and I wouldn't want to miss out on that dinner."

Once again unable to think of a fitting answer, Tony swung his go-bag onto his back and trotted off for the side of the building and the entrance to its underground garage without another word. He found the bike without incident and was soon on his way.

Tony hadn't really counted on spending the first few blocks with the scooter simply struggling to get the feel of being on two wheels again. It wasn't _exactly_ like remembering how to ride a bike but after a few turns and a panicky moment of praying to every God he knew that one of the silver things beneath his fingertips was indeed a _brake_, he felt like he had a decent handle on it and chanced a little more speed.

The twilight closing in around him seemed unnatural, like he was seeing an entirely different spectrum of light than he was used to. Maybe it was the last rays of dark golden sunlight emerging below purple clouds, or maybe it was just the blood pounding behind his eyes but he didn't think he was imagining it. He needed to get out of his head, needed to concentrate and focus on the road in front of him, the road that seemed riddled with a million impossibilities, rising up like quicksand to grab at his tires and hold him back from reaching Jethro.

One mile, two miles…

_Gibbs, Gibbs…_

The thump of pavement beneath the wheels seemed to echo the adrenaline-fueled throbbing of his pulse or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, the odometer kept turning and every new little number meant he was that much closer-_closer to what? _His mind refused to go there.

The first couple miles of Tony's journey were relatively easy. He dodged traffic up the center line or on sidewalks, prepared to flash his creds and claim an emergency if by chance one of the District's finest happened to take an interest in him, but he was betting on the fact that every able body had far more pressing matters to attend to tonight than one guy on a scooter violating a few dozen traffic laws. Occasionally he had to slow for tree limbs or broken glass in his path but was truly surprised that he met no real impediments to his steady progress across town. His ride across the Key Bridge was a little slower than he would have liked, the traffic there bumper to bumper and dead stopped with many drivers out of their cars and trying to get a glimpse up the road. Once across, he tried to stick to side streets or even alleys and avoid large intersections. He made sure to stay to high ground, bypassing roads he knew might be quicker but prone to flooding.

Three miles, four miles, five…

_Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs…_

He used the access road around Arlington Cemetery, headed south on the 395 service drive past the Army-Navy club to give Reagan airport a wide berth. The endless line of cars below him didn't seem to be getting anywhere in a hurry and he was feeling pretty good about his choices so far as he made decent time considering the snail-paced world around him.

As Tony rode, he took stock of the neighborhoods, businesses, and parks that he passed in the fast-dwindling light. The damage was wide spread, certainly, but so far he had seen nothing he would term 'catastrophic'. In some parks and open spaces where the wind had been allowed free reign he saw the outlines of overturned trees, their immense root clusters looking odd and alien in the dim light. Every so often he came on downed power lines sparking menacingly off to one side or the other and even a few poles that looked as if a giant had snapped them off midway up like a toothpick. At one intersection a string of traffic lights had come down and scattered red, green, and yellow shards among the cars stranded there. He skirted this carefully, silently blessed his new friend as the scooter wove easily around the mess where one full sized car at a time barely fit. But overall, the areas around him seemed curiously devoid of people so in general he paid them little mind. He became ever more hopeful as the pavement passed beneath him and the odometer spun slowly.

Six miles…seven…

_Gibbs….oh God, Gibbs…_

Tony was forced to slow up a few blocks from where he usually turned to head east through the surrounding neighborhoods to get to Gibbs' place when he came by this route. Here, the damage was unquestionably greater. Piles of debris littering the road were marked off with glowing flares and he saw the unmistakable pulsing lights of emergency vehicles ahead. On every corner, people milled around in scattered and disjointed groups. Some clutched at each other like small, frightened children while others turned flat and lost eyes on him as he passed. He knew the signs of shock when he saw them, recognized the empty gazes and aimless movements, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the same time it forced his heart into this throat.

He moved at a snail's pace around the detritus of the storm's wake and tried to stick to the parts of the road that were clearest. At the next intersection, a convenience store stood heavily damaged, its roof sloping off at an odd angle and its ice bin tossed halfway into the street, spilling the partly-melted bags of its innards into the gutter. Shattered glass glittered at him everywhere in the path of the bike's head lamp and Tony was finally forced to take to his feet and push, knowing that without these two wheels he never could have come so far so fast. In a car he'd surely have been gridlocked a mile from his apartment. On his feet he'd still be running. No matter what happened now, at least he could be grateful for that.

The road ahead was completely cordoned off by emergency vehicles about a block from the street that would take him to Jethro's. With a deep sigh of regret, he found a minimally cluttered space between two vehicles that had sustained heavy hail damage and abandoned the scooter, knowing he would get no further on it tonight. With any luck it would be there when this mess was over with but if it wasn't, well, his pocket book would be a bit lighter, and it was a price he was willing to pay.

Amidst the flashing lights, Tony could pick out at least three fire trucks, a few vans marked with search and rescue insignia, half a dozen ambulances, and a few black and whites from the Metro PD. In the distance he could hear chainsaws, and nearer, the squall of an infant above the buzz of hushed voices and the chatter of radios as teams communicated back and forth.

No one stopped him at the first barrier. Tony knew how to put on an air of authority when necessary and right now he was on a mission he wasn't about to be deterred from. He looked confident, he looked like he belonged, he looked like a man you didn't want to fuck with.

The fact that he was wearing his NCIS slicker probably didn't hurt.

Past the rescue engine blocking the road, Tony found paramedic crews triaging the injured. Mostly he saw glazed-eyed victims with cuts and gashes, a few who looked like they had potentially broken limbs or dislocated joints, but there didn't seem to be any body bags. He wanted desperately to believe that was a good sign.

Tony'd made it as far as the entrance to Jethro's street, barely recognizable among the debris of overturned trees and scattered rubble, before someone finally decided to question his presence at the scene.

"Unless you're injured or need help, all non-official personnel need to stay behind the barriers, sir." A distinctly unsympathetic voice called out to him from a few feet away.

Schooling his features and recognizing the tone of a small man who has been given a big job, Tony turned and glared menacingly. "Who's in charge here?" he demanded flatly, sizing up the man approaching him in a Metro PD uniform.

"That would be me for the moment. Are you a resident? If you're looking for someone we've got a guy taking names back there." He gestured back in the direction Tony had come from. "Otherwise, you'll need to wait behind the barrier."

"I'm a Federal Agent. Got one of our best men a few blocks in on Laurel and no one can get him on the phone. Director sent me to bring him in." He flashed his badge as he gave his story, not even caring that it was only half-true. There was no doubt in his mind that if Vance knew about Gibbs' MIA status he would have ordered someone into the fray.

The officer squared his shoulders. "I'm under strict orders not to let anyone into this zone unless they are official rescue personnel. You can wait for your friend but right now we're going house to house and it's a damn mess. Might be awhile before we get that far in so I'm going to have to insist you wait behind the barrier where you're out from under foot."

Tony felt the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. This was a simple game of who had the bigger cock and there was no doubt in his mind that he would come out on top without too much effort. Rather than backing down as the officer clearly hoped he would, he took a step forward, leaning in ominously. "And _I'm_ under orders from the director of a Federal Agency who, I'm pretty sure, trumps whatever desk jockey is giving you your directives regarding this scene." He took another step, noticing that his challenger was leaning back on his heels ever so slightly now. "So if you want to stop me from doing what I was sent here to do you've got two choices, handcuff me, or shoot me." Tony ticked these off on his fingers without looking down as he moved closer. "And then someone with a hell of a lot more seniority than you is going to have a really bad day explaining to the Director of NCIS_ and_ the Secretary of the Navy why the Metro PD interfered with the operations of their Agency."

His last step finally forced his adversary backwards, though the harried officer moved quickly to cover his unconscious retreat. "I won't be responsible for…"

"I'm sure you won't," Tony sneered, relaxing his posture a little. "Now, unless you've got something helpful for me, I assume you're done wasting my time." He didn't wait for an answer as he turned to go, picking a route to the right side of what remained of the street and leaving the sputtering and fuming officer in his wake.

* * *

><p>Tony hadn't gone 200 feet down Jethro's street before he was stopped in his tracks by the overwhelming enormity of what he was walking into. He let out a breathy and involuntary curse as the thick, penetrating beam of his flashlight lit on the devastation around him.<p>

Bombs. He'd seen bombs cause less damage than this. The thing about a bomb is that there is an order to its destruction, a central detonation point, a blast radius, simple as that. Sure there are variations depending on the size and type of the device, what you put in its way, but in the end there is a general predictability about what it will leave behind. This…this was chaos defined and the disorientation Tony felt was very nearly instantaneous and absolute.

He had to believe he was still on the outside edge of the tornado's damage path and yet everywhere he looked there was evidence of its passing. A few homes to his right looked nearly untouched-though he guessed in the daylight the story might be a bit different-while others had sustained tremendous damage. He could see large red X's on the doors of each home indicating that they had been checked and cleared. In his path and in the street, huge old elms and maples had been overturned and thrown about like match sticks. Other trees were broken off abruptly a few feet up their massive trunks or split down the center like they had been hacked by the largest axe ever created. Glass and other things he didn't want to think about crunched beneath his boots at every step. And those were the _normal _things.

High up in the branches of an oddly denuded tree his flashlight shone on the white enameled cube of what could only be a washing machine no matter how insane the notion of its presence might be. On the otherwise clean-swept front lawn of a two story home the mangled remains of a child's swing set looked alien and somehow haunting. Everywhere he looked, pieces of paper, books, magazines, clothing, toys, the tattered and torn remnants of dozens, perhaps hundreds of lives, created an otherworldly landscape.

Focus.

Tony needed to focus. Focus meant breathing which he suddenly realized he wasn't doing much of. Now he filled his lungs until they burned and exhaled the thought that was slowly eating him alive from the inside.

_Gibbs…_

That single thought swept through him, uprooted his feet from the ground and brought him back down to earth all at the same time. He became aware again of the busy sound of chainsaws not far ahead, of voices shouting instructions. Somehow the sounds were comforting. Even though he knew he was a block or two from dozens of people they suddenly seemed a million miles away and the only things that existed were those standing between him and Gibbs. There was this part of him, the part he was hanging onto with every step, that hoped, that _believed_, he would find Jethro somewhere along the way, pitching in, saving lives, being the man that he had to be. Tony smiled at the thought as he carefully skirted a pile of bricks that had formerly belonged to a modest turn of the century home.

Tony tackled one obstacle at a time until the voices got closer, until the purr of a generator reached his ears and the glow of a halogen lamp penetrated the darkness of the street. He found a man in search and rescue gear refueling a chainsaw in the pool of light and approached. "Hey," he called out as he shielded his eyes.

The man squatting down in front of him looked confused until Tony emerged fully from the shadows. "You need help? Thought we cleared all the houses back there already?"

"Looking for someone." He flashed his creds to give himself a bit more of a leg to stand on.

"Not exactly the place for a manhunt tonight." The man screwed the gas cap back on tightly and wiped his hands on his pants.

Tony shook his head. "Looking for my boss. He lives a couple blocks further in and no one can get him on the phone. If he's okay," he swallowed the word-_oh fuck, let him be okay-"_If he's okay he'd most likely be here lending a hand somewhere. 'Bout 6 foot? Silver hair? Walks and talks like a Marine?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Man of few words, huh? I don't have anyone in this group but we're all fanned out. Let me check with the other teams. What's your guy's name?" He pulled a radio out of his belt.

"Gibbs." Tony realized he had responded a little too hopefully. This little bit of human interaction in an otherwise alien world was more comforting than he would have imagined, and he suddenly didn't feel so alone in his fight.

"Anyone out there got a local by the name of Gibbs working with them? He's a Fed." He released the microphone button and waited.

Seconds passed but to Tony it felt like minutes before anyone responded. When they did it was all in the negative and his heart fell a bit more with every crackling answer.

"Sorry, doesn't sound like he's here. Where did you say he was at again?"

"About two blocks further east. I think." Tony took a moment to examine their surroundings for anything familiar and realized they were in the middle of an intersection. Only a few feet of curb was visible as an identifier.

The rescue worker nodded. "Haven't been in that far yet but it's pretty close to the direct path. Lot of damage, got people trapped beneath debris or worse." He looked like he suddenly realized this wasn't the news Tony was looking to hear and moved on. "There are more teams working in from the other side and on other streets but we just don't have enough bodies to move faster. Could use a couple more men who knew what the hell they were doing."

"Understood. If I can come back, I will," Tony promised sincerely.

"You got a radio? Think I have an extra." He walked over to a small pile of equipment, retrieved an identical looking walkie to the one held in his other hand, and handed it to Tony. "We're on channel 7. Don't know how much juice this one's got left but it's better than nothing."

"Appreciate it." Tony tucked the hand-held device into his pocket and hesitated on the point of turning away, finally working up the courage to ask the question that had been burning on his tongue. "How bad?" he asked somberly.

The rescue worker contemplated Tony for a moment before answering. "Bad," he said simply, an unmistakable note of sympathy lingering on the single syllable.

Digging in despite his churning gut, DiNozzo fought down the bitter mix of bile and adrenaline that rose in his throat, found his reserves, and hiked his bag a little higher on his shoulders. "Thanks." They both knew for what.

"Hope you find him."

"I will."

One way or another, he would.

* * *

><p>**<strong>Almost forgot to note this...I did the best I could in plotting Tony a route from someplace in the Georgetown area to Southern Alexandria. Since we have an address for Gibbs which doesn't actually EXIST in Alexandria, I placed him in a warren of neighborhoods north of the Beltway that I thought would fit. If you actually LIVE in the DC or surrounding areas, please suspend disbelief and don't get too picky about the route. I was working with what I had!<strong>

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Authors' Note: A huge thank you to everyone following and giving us feedback on this story! Fear not, Tony is on the way but what will he find when he gets to Gibbs' house? While Gibbs works to free himself, memories of the past and dreams of the future play through his mind.

* * *

><p>Dizzy and disoriented, Gibbs groaned as he slowly started to regain consciousness. He drifted in and out for an undetermined amount of time before his senses began to kick in leaving him stranded somewhere between awake and an almost surreal dream state.<p>

His eyes fluttered open and he blinked repeatedly to clear away a layer of dust. He could smell the coppery tang of blood trickling down his face. It took some effort, but he managed to free his right arm from beneath a pile of debris and was able to wipe away the blood that had coagulated around his right eye. A second stream of blood trickled down his face and tickled his ear before dripping to the floor. Gibbs knew from experience that even small head wounds had a tendency to bleed profusely.

As the fog slowly lifted, he became keenly aware of the crushing weight on his chest and legs. Lying on his back in the dark on cold wet concrete, his Marine training took over and he began to assess the situation. Gibbs sent a silent command to his toes to wiggle and they dutifully obeyed, though not without some major discomfort. "Okay, not paralyzed," he thought as he felt nearly the full weight of the boat covering him from the left side of his chest down to his feet.

A first attempt at taking a deep breath was met with heavy resistance and sharp pain radiating from what he suspected were at least a few cracked, if not broken, ribs. Mindful of this, he kept his breathing as shallow as possible. Each small breath hurt like hell, but at least he was alive.

With his left arm pinned beneath rubble he couldn't look at his watch, and had no idea if he had been lying there for minutes, hours, or days. He made one attempt to free himself, but his ribs protested and the exertion only served to exacerbate the pounding in his head. Gibbs closed his eyes and lay still as a wave of nausea crashed over him, a sure sign of a concussion.

It was eerily quiet save for occasional creaking and groaning coming from above and the muted sound of distant sirens. Helpless as he lay entombed beneath a pile of debris, and unaware of the total devastation above and around him, Gibbs cursed at himself for not paying closer attention or heeding the warnings on the radio and TV.

Growing up in east-central Pennsylvania, Gibbs was hardly a stranger to tornadoes. He could vividly recall Jack barking for him and his mom to get in the storm cellar on several occasions. The tiny town of Stillwater, population 209, had never taken a direct hit that he could remember but surrounding towns hadn't always been as lucky.

The last thing Gibbs remembered before the storm struck was the lights going out followed closely by a loud sustained crash and the shattering of glass as he dove for cover under the boat. He dropped his hand to the side, which fortuitously landed on the Maglite he had grabbed mere moments before all hell broke loose. True to its advertising as being indestructible, with the push of a button an intense beam of brilliant light pierced the darkness.

From his vantage point Gibbs couldn't see much, but when the beam fell on the old console TV that normally sat in the corner of his living room lying broken on its side nearby it was evident that he was pinned beneath more than just the boat. He was able to crane his neck enough to see the edge of a large jagged hole above him with fractured floor joists hanging precariously and no longer fully supporting the floors above him. The stairs where all but gone.

A profound ache constricted his heart and he swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. Lost in renewed sorrow, Gibbs closed his watery eyes and let his mind drift back in time.

* * *

><p><em>Shannon had been instantly charmed by the two-story house and saw great potential for making it a home. The neighborhood was typical suburbia with an elementary school and large park just two blocks away. If the number of kids playing tag and riding bikes was any indication, Kelly would certainly have her share of friends. Built in the late sixties, the house wasn't as fancy as some of the newer homes being built in the area, but it suited their needs perfectly. <em>

_Kelly, with all the glee a typical five-year old possessed, was instantly enamored by the raised wooden sandbox in the back yard. Doris Markey, the friendly middle-aged realtor, chuckled and promised to keep an eye on Kelly while Gibbs and Shannon explored the house. Once Gibbs had given the house a thorough inspection, finding it well built and structurally sound, he gave in to his girls' wishes and made an offer. Shedding sand as she went, Kelly squealed with delight then ran up the stairs and laid claim to the bedroom of her choice. _

_The house failed to be a home without Shannon and Kelly, and for a brief time Gibbs considered selling it. Several young couples looked at it during the short time it was on the market, but Gibbs couldn't bring himself to accept even the most generous offer. One young family in particular, so reminiscent of the one he lost, brought back too many precious memories. Those memories were too closely tied to the house, and he wasn't sure he could ever let them go._

_Many times during the first few months after their funeral Gibbs contemplated suicide so that he could join them on the other side. Overwhelmed by the pain of grief, one by one he distanced himself from everyone. He drank to excess and went out looking for fights. Any physical pain he had to suffer was a temporary distraction from the devastating pain of his broken heart. _

_It was dumb luck that on one fortuitous night, a severely drunken Gibbs picked a fight with the wrong guy - Mike Franks. It would be the only fight he ever lost. Seeing that his opponent was highly intoxicated, Franks took pity on him after cutting him above the eye with one well-aimed punch and dragged him out of the bar. After promising the bartender that they would be back in the morning to pick up his truck, Mike loaded a staggering Gibbs into the front seat of his car and drove him home. _

_There was something about the cantankerous arrogant bastard that told Gibbs he could trust him. As Franks cleaned and bandaged the cut above his eye, Gibbs sat at the kitchen table and poured out his heart. The gruff stranger proved to be sympathetic and imparted some words of wisdom. _

_"You gotta pull yourself together, Gunny. You can either wallow in self-pity, or you can do something about the son-of-a bitch that killed your family. Get your shit together and maybe we can track him down," Franks barked as he pulled a card from his wallet. "You call that number and come see me. I could use a tough hombre like you on my team. At least think about it, and for Christ's sake quit beating yourself up. I'll be waiting for your call."_

_It would only be a few weeks later before Gibbs started working for NIS and calling Mike "Boss" while proudly earning himself a new name - "Probie". _

* * *

><p>Startled awake by another loud crash, Gibbs' eyes shot open. A bolt of sharp pain radiated from his chest to this toes as the crushing weight pinning him down shifted ever so slightly. He felt the ground shudder beneath him as a shower of plaster dust and splinted wood rained down on him.<p>

Turning his head to the right to protect his face from the falling debris, Gibbs' eyes fell on his cell phone lying open on its side just out reach. Had he tried to call for help? He couldn't remember, not that it mattered now. It was going to be up to him to free himself with the hope that help was on its way.

Gibbs always figured he would die alone, but not like this; not entombed in the remnants of his sanctuary. He always saw himself getting blown up or shot in the line of duty, not buried beneath one of his creations and likely a good portion of his house. Feeling numbness in his legs, it was clear that time was running out to get circulation back. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut against anticipated agony and with the Maglite held firmly in his teeth, Gibbs used his dominant right arm to push up on the boat rib threatening to crush his chest. Growling like a weightlifter pushing his limits, he managed enough leverage to and was able to dislodge some of the debris creating extra weight. He was able to raise the frame enough to free his left arm. It was bloodied and bruised but his fingers wiggled and with some effort his wrist flexed on command. It hurt like hell and was likely sprained, but thankfully not broken.

Exertion and pain combined to cause his whole body to break out in a sweat. He rested for a few minutes before making a second attempt, and a third as he used the ribs of the boat like monkey bars. Fighting with sheer determination against pure blinding agony, Gibbs was able to raise the structure just enough so he could wriggle his upper body and drag himself free.

His relief from the crushing weight was short-lived, however, when blood rushed back into his once-pinned extremities. He bit down on the shaft of the Maglite clenched between his teeth, stifling a scream until the almost brutal pins and needles sensations began to lessen. Along with his pounding head, Gibbs no longer had any doubt that he would indeed be nursing several broken ribs. He kept his breathing as shallow as possible and prayed that the overexertion hadn't resulted in a punctured lung. Gingerly, he sat up holding his throbbing left arm against his body.

When he reached his phone, he slid it across the cold concrete toward the corner near the hot water heater. The joists and rafters bolted to the foundation walls appeared to be undamaged and would provide a bit of shelter from additional falling debris, or so he hoped. It took Herculean effort, but he managed to drag himself across the floor until he was propped up in the corner.

"Shit," he ground out at the sight of his somewhat distorted left leg. Gibbs suspected it was broken, but until he could put weight on it he wouldn't know for sure. In addition to throbbing, there was angry-looking bruising and pronounced swelling just above the top of his leather work boot. That was minor, however, compared to the long, deep, jagged gash running down the inside of his calf from his knee to his boot. Gibbs picked several large splinters of wood from the wound that had begun to bleed profusely now that full circulation had been restored.

Leaning to his right he was able to grab a few old t-shirts from the pile he kept on hand for staining. It took some effort, but he managed to tear one shirt into wide strips. Using scrap lumber as a makeshift splint would have been ideal to stabilize his leg, but binding the wound tightly with strips of cloth would have to suffice for now.

Gibbs was about to tear up a second shirt but stopped when he recognized it. He huffed out a laugh as yet another flash from the past crept into his mind like some macabre version of "This Is Your Life". It was a black Brooks & Dunn t-shirt he hadn't seen in nearly two decades that belonged to someone who had entered his life at his darkest time and turned his world upside down.

_Randy Sterling was the quintessential gym rat. The tall, tan, blue-eyed blonde model and part-time personal trainer was busy racking weights after spotting for a client when Gibbs came in carrying his gym bag over his shoulder. As a bartender at Gibbs' favorite haunt, Randy had been witness to and helped break up several of his fights. _

_After suffering through a mandatory, six-hour sensitivity seminar presented by the Human Resources Department, Gibbs desperately needed to release some pent-up energy. After signing in at the front desk, he made his way to the locker room to change. The two acquaintances exchanged polite nods._

_After changing into his workout gear, Gibbs stretched and shadow boxes for a few minutes to warm-up. Satisfied that he was ready for battle, he pulled on and laced up a pair of well-worn boxing gloves and turned to face his nemesis. In the zone and laser-focused, he took out his lingering frustration, grief and anger on the heavy bag. Each deliberate punch and kick was in equal measure painful and cathartic. His muscles burned and sweat ran into his eyes as he battled his personal demons. _

_Twenty minutes later, utterly spent, Gibbs collapsed to the floor with a pained sob, gasping for breath amid a string of curses. Randy, who had seen this scene play out before, rushed to his side. Gibbs took the offered towel and wiped the sweat from his face. Then, before Gibbs could make sense of what was happening, he was pulled to his feet and steered toward the locker room. _

_"Well I guess this is better than beating the shit out my best tippers," Randy said with a chuckle. "Tell you what, you go shower and change, then we'll get a drink and talk. Maybe grab a bite to eat, because you look like you could use a friend." _

_An hour later, Gibbs sat on Randy's couch nursing a cold beer. Two hours later his condom-covered cock was sliding in and out of Randy's welcoming body. Strong legs draped over his shoulders, hard muscle rippling beneath his hands, and the warm heat squeezing his throbbing dick was a heady combination. Randy offered encouragement as Gibbs lost himself in the unfamiliar sensations until he achieved the long overdue release he so desperately needed._

_Gibbs' first time with a man formed the basis for a relationship with no expectations and no strings attached. But it wasn't just sex. They were friends first and fuck buddies second, and neither man was looking for more than that. They were comfortable just hanging out together, whether at the gym, working on Randy's car, or doing yard work at Gibbs' house. _

_Randy gradually convinced Gibbs to start dating again, sometimes serving as his wingman at the bar or setting him up with a couple of women he was friends with, and he was always there for him when things didn't work out. Tragically, their unique friendship was cut short after six and half months when Randy was struck and killed by a drunk driver while out for a late night run. By that time, Gibbs had started seeing the woman who would eventually become the first of his three ex-wives._

* * *

><p>Gibbs smiled fondly at the memories before tossing Randy's shirt aside and trading it for an old faded NIS one. After field dressing his visible wounds, he picked up his phone and flipped it open. He slumped back against the wall with relief when the cracked screen lit up. The time read 9:06. His first attempt to call Tony dropped immediately. Cursing under his breath he tried again, only to be immediately greeted with, "Hi! You've reached the one and only Anthony Di…," before the call dropped again. Calls to Ducky and Abby ended with the same result.<p>

He knew that cell service would be iffy at best. Any cell towers still standing would be overtaxed with people across the vast city attempting to reach their loved ones. True enough, his third attempt to call Tony was met with a bright white message on the screen: "No service."

"Dammit," he hissed before snapping his phone shut and dropping it by his side. For a moment he wondered if Tony, or anyone for that matter, was trying to reach him. Panic set in as his thoughts turned first to Tony, then to Abby, McGee, Ducky, Ziva, and even Jimmy Palmer.

Not knowing the extent of damage his house, his neighborhood, or the city had sustained, Gibbs sent up a silent prayer to a God he wasn't sure he'd ever truly believed in that his team – his family – was safe.

Tamping down another wave of concussion-induced nausea, he turned off the flashlight and closed his eyes. His earlier dreams filled with loss were forgotten as he succumbed to sleep. He dreamed again, but this time instead of his sorrowful past creeping back in and haunting him, he saw visions of hope.

* * *

><p><em>The cool salty spray was welcome and brought some relief to his slightly sunburned skin. Steady twelve knot winds filled out the main sheet and jib keeping the 27-foot sloop breaking through the unusually calm waters of the Chesapeake Bay. The steady wind, fair weather, and minimal two-foot waves combined for absolutely ideal sailing. <em>

_The boat was on loan from Gibbs' friend Max, a retired Marine he served with in Desert Storm. Gibbs had carried Max out of a fire fight after his squad was flanked and ambushed. He managed half a dozen kills while laying down cover fire causing the remaining Iraqi fighters to flee into the hills. Their friendship was forged in blood, and Max swore he would forever be in Gibbs' debt. _

_Tony had pestered Gibbs to finish the fourth generation "Kelly", which was nearing completion, but to Tony's disappointment she wouldn't be sea-worthy until the following spring. Gibbs had promised to take him sailing, and at Tony's dramatic pout he called in a favor._

_The sun, high in the cloudless blue sky, glinted off of the water and the deliciously exposed skin of his sailing companion. Gibbs stood at the helm, keeping one eye on the open water and his other eye on the cocoa and shea butter coated Tony clad in the tiniest Speedo he'd ever seen and a pair of designer aviator shades. The long, slender, yet perfectly toned and muscled body of a nearly naked Tony DiNozzo lying on a deep blue beach towel up on the bow was a pleasant and welcome distraction from the endless miles of dark water surrounding them. _

_"Hey DiNozzo, c'mere and take the wheel for a minute," Gibbs requested with a tone that sounded more like an order._

_Tony sat up and gaped at him. "Me? Are you crazy? I am not, repeat not, going to be responsible for crashing your friend's boat," he protested._

_Gibbs chuckled. "You won't. I just need you to hold her steady while I take down the sail and drop anchor for a while."_

_"Oh. Okay then. Aye aye, Captain," Tony replied with a pearly-white toothy grin and a sloppy salute. He toweled off the beads of sweat from his bare chest, wiped his hands, and carefully slid off the top of the cabin. Not used to the rocking and pitching, he held onto the railing as he slowly made his way to the helm._

_Gibbs released his hold on the wheel so that Tony could slide in front of him. A pleading look of borderline terror from Tony made Gibbs smile affectionately. He grabbed Tony's hands and placed them on the wheel, holding them securely in place with his own. He grinned in satisfaction when Tony's breath caught and his body shuddered under his rough touch._

_"Just keep it right there. I'll just be a minute," Gibbs crooned in his ear before backing away. _

_In that minute, seemingly out of nowhere, a storm began to rage. Sheets of heavy rain fell, the wind picked up and the deep dark waters turned angry. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw the unthinkable happen. The boat pitched violently and a rogue wave crested over the side. When the wave receded, Tony was gone. _

_"Nooooooo!" Gibbs screamed as he frantically searched for any sign of Tony over the railings. "TONY! TONY!" he shouted repeatedly into the gale-force wind. _

_As soon as it started, however, the freak storm was over. The sun shone brightly and the water and wind suddenly calmed. Gibbs stood in stunned disbelief. Unshed tears began to burn his eyes. He swiped furiously at them and called out for Tony again. This time, his desperate plea was answered with a sputtered cough coming from the stern._

_Gibbs leaned over the railing to find Tony holding on for dear life to the metal ladder affixed to the side. _

_"Oh thank God," he declared as he grabbed Tony's arm and hauled him back into the safety of the boat. Dropping down onto the bench seat, Tony looked as scared and dazed as he felt. Gibbs methodically but efficiently checked for any signs of injury. Thankfully, except for a small bump on his forehead and a few scrapes and bruises he was not seriously hurt. Lifting the back bench seat, Gibbs retrieved a dry beach towel from the storage bin underneath it and wrapped it around Tony's shoulders._

_"Gibbs," Tony muttered meekly as his eyes locked on Gibbs'. "Will you - hold me," he requested. _

_The words were music to his ears, but Gibbs needed reassurance. Tony grabbed his hand and smiled sweetly, his emerald eyes flashing with love and affection. Gibbs swallowed hard knowing there would be no turning back. _

_As he wrapped his free arm tightly around Tony's shoulders, Gibbs turned to face him, and his heart swelled with a sense of love and peace. It was now or never. He leaned forward and found his lips captured in the most amazing tender kiss._

* * *

><p>Gibbs was rudely pulled from his dream by another loud crash as more of the house collapsed into the basement, crushing the boat - the temporary shelter that had saved his life - into a random pile of broken lumber. Two more joists fell, one falling toward him. Gibbs hunched over and used his arms in an attempt to protect his head and neck, but thankfully it was the furnace that took a direct hit instead of him.<p>

Now trapped between the water heater and furnace surrounded by a mountain of rubble, Gibbs sat in the darkness and began to lose hope.

"Tony," he whispered plaintively. With the dream still fresh in his mind, Gibbs allowed tears to trickle from the corners of his eyes. In every imaginable way, he feared his time - their time - was running out.

_"Gibbs?"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much to all who have commented, PM'd, and made this story one of your faves. We are truly humbled that you're enjoying our collaboration on this and we hope to keep you enthralled with a few more Sunday installments. This is the first chapter where both of us have pitched in on the writing and you will find there is just a bit of overlap to fit the two POV's together. We're really hoping that it works for you!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>Tony was so focused on juggling his pack and his flashlight while carefully choosing every step that he almost walked right past Jethro's house without even looking up. It had been extremely difficult going for the last block and he'd climbed over, around, and even up trees and debris to stick to a relatively steady route.<p>

It was silent again. In part he was grateful for this. Tony didn't know what he would have done if he had heard cries for help coming from somewhere in the jumbled remains of the once beautiful and achingly familiar neighborhood. Deep down he knew that there wouldn't be a choice. That he would respond to any pleas or cries for help out of duty or instinct or something else entirely, all the while dying a little inside at the delay it caused him in getting to Jethro. It was just how he was made. But the silence remained all-encompassing, isolating in its firm grip on the alien world around him.

He couldn't say what it was that made him stop suddenly, made him turn. So much around him was unrecognizable that finding the familiar in all of it was jarring. When he recognized the triptych window in the two stories of green, wood siding, the well-worn front steps that led to the door that was always open, muscles that were tired and burning immediately suffused with energy, and he nearly vaulted over the downed tree that stood between him and that door. Relief washed over him at the fact that the house looked largely intact. The beautiful leaded glass windows were blown out, the shutters gone, the screen door sat askew on its hinges, and as he approached, he saw that several pieces of siding had been ripped clean off, but compared to what he had seen on his journey here, the fact that the house was still standing was a miracle. Perhaps the strangest thing he found outside was that just above the door, three 2x4's had been driven into the side of the house like they were nails. He couldn't see how deep they penetrated but the force it would take to do something like that was surely awesome, and he shuddered at the thought of Jetho having endured the onslaught so directly.

"Gibbs!" he yelled at the top of his lungs before his fingers even closed around the doorknob. It turned without resistance, and he barreled into the entryway.

"Gibbs are you…" The shout ended in a whisper as he entered the living room area where he and Gibbs had shared beers and steaks and silence for so many nights. The room was in complete shambles. Beneath the window, the couch still stood just as it always had. Even the neat stack of Jethro's blankets and the small decorative pillows-one of the many wives' touches certainly- were exactly where they belonged, but the rest of it…

Tony took a step forward and a board groaned and popped ominously beneath his feet. Afraid to even breathe given the destruction around him and realizing that the intact façade of the house dangerously belied the true extent of the damage, Tony stood rooted to the floor and shone his flashlight as far as he could into the interior of what had been Gibbs' home. The fireplace appeared to have provided some stability to the outer wall of the living room but there was something wrong here too. The floor seemed to slope alarmingly toward the kitchen and as he followed it with the Maglite's beam, he found the dramatically jagged edge of the hardwood where it suddenly became blackness and realized he was shining his light into an open hole. There was nothing to see past that point as the ceiling between Jethro's extremely informal dining room and the kitchen had collapsed in that area. Instantly afraid that the floor might give in beneath his weight or a larger section of the ceiling give out above him, Tony retreated with extreme caution to the edge of the room and the relative reassurance of its intact wall.

"Oh Jethro," Tony breathed, "I'm so sorry." He felt tears cloud his eyes momentarily, realizing what this type of loss would mean to Gibbs. An ominous snapping sound somewhere in the superstructure above him followed by a cascade of plaster dust brought another wave of urgency.

Basement…he needed to get to the basement.

"Gibbs!" Tony called, hearing the rising panic in his own voice. "If you're here just give me a yell, a bang, anything. I'll find you, I promise." He stopped moving and waited, holding his breath.

There was nothing, just the silence, just the frame of the house continually protesting gravity with little creaks and groans.

"Goddamnit, Jethro, this is not a time to hold out on me. You can go back to being the strong silent type another day." He tried to stop the shaking of his hands as he moved very carefully along an outside wall towards the entrance to the basement stairs. Tony couldn't see beyond the area where the ceiling had come down in the kitchen, couldn't tell the true extent of the damage, but he knew it was bad. Really bad. Dust still hung in the air everywhere he swung the beam of light and floorboards cracked and moaned their tortured warnings beneath his feet with every step, but he kept moving.

The thick beams separating the mud room from the kitchen had held the entrance open and he squeezed around a jagged 2x4 to find that the basement door was shut tight. This wasn't entirely unusual, especially if Gibbs had been preparing for the storm. Tony turned the handle and it gave easily, but the door did not move when he pushed against it. "Gibbs!" Tony called again. "Gibbs, please answer me!" He put all of his weight into the door and felt no give, tried to kick it in but with no success. Behind him, something large and heavy shifted warningly and he decided that his tact of violence against the unmoving slab of wood might be doing more harm than good. His mind was racing now, panicking, something that should have been completely bred out of him after years as a cop, as an agent, and yet here it was, rising up his throat and squeezing his heart. He placed his hand gently against the door and took a deep breath.

_Think. _

Tony found he couldn't think. Damnit, he was always better at talking than thinking. Okay, so he could talk, right? It didn't matter if Gibbs could hear him or not. He cleared his throat and spoke into the darkness.

"Gibbs? I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if you're here, but I'm here, okay? I'm here and I need you to be alright. I need you to help me because, you know, you're the boss, Gibbs. And right now I need my boss. I need one of those good old fashioned slaps to the head you're so fond of, and I know I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm pretty scared right now. I'm scared, Gibbs…" His voice faded out a little and he forced air into his lungs once more. "So, just be okay, okay?" He rested his head and his hand against the wood of the door, stroking down the familiar grain with his fingertips.

Oddly enough this little appeal helped clear his head a bit, helped quell the swirls of panic in his gut that told him with nauseating certainty that Gibbs _was_ here. Somewhere.

"Okay," Tony resumed talking out loud but managed to dig in and shift his brain into problem solving mode. "Can't get down the stairs. Need another way in. If only you'd told us how in the hell you got those damn boats out of the basement, Boss." His mind flashed to the room beyond the door he could not open, to the pulsing memories of wood beneath his hands and the sweet taste of Bourbon on his lips. Tools, wood, stairs, workbench…Tony's mind did an inventory, trying to come up with a solution. "Window!" His eyes flew open from where they had fallen half-closed in concentration. "Boss, you have a window!" He shouted into the creaking silence.

Making his way back to the front door-the exit to the back deck was blocked beyond hope-Tony hopped the rail and discovered that the obstacle of Jethro's privacy fence had been conveniently removed for him by the storm. His flashlight immediately lit on the thin opening at ground level toward the read of the foundation and he kicked aside some minor debris before throwing himself flat and shining his light through the cloudy glass. What he saw immediately made his breath catch.

The basement wasn't exactly a basement anymore. Part of the first floor, and maybe even a little of the second, was now residing in its space. The stairs were mostly gone, and at least one support beam had come down which was clearly what was preventing the door from opening. He certainly wasn't going to make any progress that way. God help him if Gibbs was somewhere in all of that.

The window didn't open from the outside nor did it afford him much of a view. Deciding that one more broken basement window was nothing in the grand scheme of things, he took the butt of the Maglite and smashed the glass, shed his bag and his slicker, and placed the coat over the edge so he could lean in. "Gibbs!" he called into the blackness, sweeping the beam of the flashlight over the room from top to bottom systematically.

A small sound caught his ear, a breathy sigh that could have been the blood pounding in his veins.

"Gibbs!" he tried again. "Jethro are you in there?"

The sound came again, louder this time, closer to a moan, and his worst fears suddenly slammed into him full force. Tony aimed his flashlight toward the far corner where Gibbs' water heater and furnace resided, the area where he thought he now heard rustling. "Oh, Jesus, Gibbs."

Between Tony and the sound lay the crushed remnants of Gibbs' latest maritime project. The thick ribs of the boat were splintered like toothpicks beneath the weight of a ton or more of beams, plaster, pipes, furniture, and God knew what else. But the thing that reached up and grabbed Tony by the throat, the thing that stole the air from his lungs and stilled his heart, was the blood. There was blood on the little space of open cement, blood on the pulverized remains of the boat, too much blood, Jethro's blood.

Even as the bile rose up in his throat and panic tried to reassert its hold, Tony heard something that made his world stop. He heard his name. It was slurred and heavy and _oh_ so quiet but there was no doubt in his mind about what he had heard, especially when it came again just slightly louder. Somewhere in all of this mess, Jethro was calling him.

"Hang on Gibbs, I'm coming." Tony pulled out of the window and flipped himself around, head spinning, the only thought in it that he had to get Jethro out, safe, _alive_, and he had to do it fast. He took hold of himself, forced himself to think about what he was jumping into before he landed in a position no better that Gibbs' current one.

_Breathe…in-2-3-out-2-3…_

Gibbs was alive so he could cross that very worst case scenario off the list, he was making noise which meant that he was at least partially conscious and that in itself was reason to celebrate. The fact that he wasn't answering, wasn't even _visible_ beneath the ruin of his basement, well, that was something he intended to deal with immediately.

Shoving his backpack through the window to drop it as gently as possible and then turning onto his belly, Tony shimmied feet first through the tight opening, used his toes to gain some small purchase against the inside wall to control his descent, and eventually landed unceremoniously in a relatively clear area near where the stairs to Gibbs' basement had ended just a few hours ago.

"Gibbs?" Tony called out, reorienting himself and zeroing in on the place where he had seen and heard Jethro a moment before. "Gibbs, it's DiNozzo…it's Tony. You still with me?" This time there was only silence and the odd feeling of heaviness as he grew keenly aware of the weight that was perched so precariously above their heads. A moment later, a point of light in the deeper darkness caught his eye and he nearly hooted for joy. "Oh, thank God!" It was perhaps the most sincere and heart-felt supplication which had ever passed his lips.

Moving slowly, trying to kick what small debris he could out of his way, Tony sought the easiest route to the far corner. He ruled out up and over pretty quickly. The tangle of beams, wires, and plywood extended past where the former ceiling of the room had been and it was abundantly clear any shift might cause it to collapse further. To his left, near the remnants of Jethro's basement stairs, a support beam leaned down at a sharp angle from the door above, but it seemed to have largely held back the collapse from the first floor, and there was enough space to pass beneath it if he stayed close to the wall. Deciding it was his best shot at present, he moved cautiously forward, glancing nervously at the remaining ceiling above him each time something creaked or shifted.

Tony made it under the beam with no problem but once he was past it and its relative shelter, he had to choose his footing very carefully up a small mound. A board tilted beneath his weight and he cursed as his foot shot into the empty space beneath without warning. Something sharp bit unmercifully into his calf but he remained still, hoping the world around him would maintain its tenuous stability. When there was no further movement amidst the rubble, he carefully extracted his boot, wincing at the wetness he now felt on his leg. Whatever the damage, there was no time to deal with it now and he silently thanked the inventor of the tetanus shot. "Hang on Boss, I'm almost there."

Immediately in front of Tony, a heavy beam and a mass of plywood T'd with the top of the water heater and furnace to form a sort of roof atop a pile of miscellaneous debris. "Gibbs?" he called loudly, moving aside a few smaller pieces at the peak of the heap. The whole damn thing was like a big Jenga game, move the wrong piece and the world came crashing down. Slowly and carefully he cleared a hole big enough to get a good view inside the space behind it.

"Dammit, DiNozzo!" a muffled and raspy voice barked at him from a few inches away.

"Sorry, Boss." Tony moved the beam of the flashlight but not before his heart thrilled at the strong sound of Jethro's normal cantankerousness. For a few heartbeats they simply stared at each other, taking comfort in the unlooked-for, the un-hoped for, presence of the familiar. Gibbs looked like shit but at least he looked relatively whole. Tony took in the blood on his face, some dried, some fresher looking, the miscellaneous rips and tears in his clothing, the blood stains and odd strips of cloth that seemed to be everywhere. The things that pulled at him, that made his heart break all over again, were the streaks of tears through the blood, the unmistakable signs of Jethro's agony.

Clearing his suddenly tight throat and extending his hand, he offered it to Gibbs through the small space and felt slightly trembling fingers tighten around his own for a few brief seconds. "Hate to be the one to break this to you, Boss, but I think I have some bad news about your boat."

A small smile bloomed across Jethro's blood-smeared face. "Ya think?"

* * *

><p>Gibbs was certain he was dreaming, or dead. Pain. So much pain and darkness. If he was dead, he knew he had landed in Hell. Voices, no, one muffled voice in a constant loop calling his name.<p>

_"Gibbs!" _

The sound of breaking glass followed by another desperate shouting of his name finally registered. It was clearer this time and familiar, a deep booming voice laced with fear and desperation. DiNozzo! Of course it was Tony – his loyal St. Bernard – who found him.

_"Gibbs it's DiNozzo ... it's Tony." _

Gibbs closed his eyes and sighed with relief. "Tony," came out as a weak, pained groan.

Unable to see past the remnants of his house piled all around him, Gibbs reached down and felt around for the Maglite. Pulling it out from under his leg, he fumbled with it until he found the power button. The beam of light must have shone like a beacon because he immediately heard _"Oh thank God!"_ followed by a loud rustling.

Gibbs snorted at the intermittent curses he heard uttered by his would-be rescuer as he climbed through, on, or over God only knew what obstacles to get to him. He waited patiently, not that he had much of a choice, and listened as Tony rambled on, demanding desperately that he _"Hold on, Boss. I'm almost there."_

Chunks of wood and plaster were cast aside while the house continued to groan as what remained of the structure protested against the pull of gravity.

Time was running out.

Gibbs knew that Tony was strong and wouldn't leave him, but he also knew that getting out was going to have to be a joint effort.

Steeling himself for the inevitable stabs of pain, Gibbs slammed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw tightly as he pushed away the joist that had helped create a makeshift lean-to when it fell against the furnace next to him. Seeing an opening appear, Gibbs slumped tiredly back against the wall. Any physical exertion served only to exacerbate the pain while sapping his waning strength.

"Dammit, DiNozzo," he barked, squinting and shielding his eyes from the blinding light. A strong hand gently lowered his bloody, bandaged arm away from his dirty, blood and tear-streaked face. Gibbs slowly opened his eyes to discover Tony leaning over him, looking more terrified than he could ever remember.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said contritely, then cleared his throat. "Hate to be the one to break this to you, Boss, but I think I have some bad news about your boat."

Gibbs initial scowl morphed into a crooked smile. "Ya think?" he croaked with a dry, dust-choked voice. Wincing in pain, he shoved more rubble out the way.

Working together as the house continued to shift and shudder, they carefully cleared the remaining debris away from Gibbs' shelter beneath the landing of the stairs. It was a slow and methodical process due to the jumbled pile of wood, plaster, mangled fixtures, twisted metal, and a tangled mess of bare, exposed electrical wiring hanging precariously over their heads.

Hobbling slightly, Tony began to clear and widen a path to the window he had climbed through but stopped when he got his first good look at , bloody, and bruised, he looked exactly like a man whose house had just fallen on him. The dirty, blood-soaked rags hastily wrapped around his arm and leg were coming undone and a fresh gash near his left temple was bleeding profusely, adding to the dried blood already caked around his tired eyes.

"Help me up," Gibbs hissed as he tried to scoot out from between the water heater and furnace. His aching ribs and extremely swollen left leg protested even the slightest movement as he struggled to extricate himself. He held his throbbing left arm tightly to his midsection as he inched his way out into the spot Tony had just cleared.

"Jesus Gibbs, you're really hurt."

"You don't look so hot yourself," Gibbs grumbled defensively. Offering his hand for Tony to help pull him onto his feet, he did a double take when he realized that Tony was now kneeling beside him - and pouting.

Even wet, dirty, with his clothes in shambles, and his hair a mass of dust-covered random spikes, Tony was still a sight for sore eyes. Seeing genuine concern mixed with fear leveled at him, Gibbs softened his gruffer than intended tone. "I'm sorry. Are _you_ okay, Tony?"

"I'm fine," Tony shouted incredulously in response. "You look like shit though! Hang on a sec. I brought a first aid kit."

While Tony retrieved his backpack, Gibbs managed to fight off a new wave of nausea as his headache came back with a vengeance. He knew he was hurt - badly, but figured that with Tony's help they could navigate the stairs. It might be slow going, but Gibbs had managed to get out of worse situations, battlefields and bombed out hostile villages, while injured _and_ taking live fire. Ten steps to freedom would be a cakewalk in comparison. It would require relying on years of deeply ingrained training and discipline, but he would somehow find the strength to get them both to safety.

Gibbs' heart sank when the beam of his flashlight fell on what little remained of the stairs. The middle section had been nearly obliterated, and what was still standing was impassable. A large beam had fallen and was wedged up against the door. They were going to have to find another way out. Gibbs sighed knowing that the only option was one of the high windows.

"Here, drink this," Tony said as he shoved an opened bottle of water into Gibbs' uninjured hand.

Mindful of the nausea, Gibbs took a couple of tentative sips to wash down the dust that had threatened to choke him. Cool, refreshing water had never tasted so good. Satisfied that he could keep it down, he took a healthy swig and then another. Rejuvenated in spirit and now able to find his voice, Gibbs muttered, "Thanks. Okay, we gotta find a way out of here."

He offered the bottle to Tony, who took it and set it on the floor. He grabbed the first aid kit from his backpack and began pulling out gauze, tape and a large bottle of antiseptic.

"Gibbs, Jethro, at least let me check you over first," Tony pled.

Knowing they didn't have time to argue, Gibbs relented to having his wounds properly tended to. He ran down his suspected injuries - sprained wrist, concussion, broken ribs, and possible broken ankle, along with a myriad of deep cuts and bruises. The look on Tony's face confirmed that he was indeed damn lucky to be alive.

He sat still as Tony poured some water on a thick pad of gauze and started gently wiping the dried blood from around his eyes. Tony leaned in and Gibbs was drawn to the concerned green eyes assessing him. The tip of Tony's tongue stuck out as he concentrated on the task at hand. Mere inches apart, Gibbs could feel Tony's breath on his face, and he could smell the musky scent of his skin mixed with a hint of apple fragrance in his hair. Gibbs smiled.

"Bleeding's mostly stopped," Tony stated clinically, but softly, as he cleaned and applied a bandage over the newer gash, still wet with fresh blood.

Gibbs felt long, deft fingers stroking through the hair at his temple. It was soothing and reassuring, and _Jesus_, it felt so damn intimate. But it was the slight tremble that Tony couldn't hide, the quick flick of pink tongue past parted lips, and the flutter of pulse at his neck that spoke to what was really happening between them right now. Reaching up slowly, Jethro wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist, stilled his movements before he could pull away from the touch. Their eyes locked for a moment in the silence, a thousand implicit things passing between them before Gibbs spoke, breaking the spell.

"I'm really glad you're here, Tony," he said with choked sincerity, keeping his grip on the younger man firm for a few heartbeats longer until he reluctantly released him.

Tony swallowed hard, and Gibbs saw regret, sadness, and, he hoped, a hint of longing in his shiny eyes.

After another long moment, Gibbs looked away and asked, "So, how bad is it?"

"Like I said, bleeding stopped ..." Tony was cut off by a weak head-slap.

"Not me, DiNozzo! The house, hell, the damn city," Gibbs muttered sadly as he took in the remnants of the boat lying splinted in a massive heap of destruction. At that moment, the house groaned and creaked as an eerie reminder of the devastation above and around them.

Tony sighed. "It's bad, but look, Gibbs - Jethro, let's get you patched up and get out of here," he said as he reached for the gauze and tape.

Gibbs watched as Tony carefully and methodically unwound the bloody rags from around his arm. Each layer of cloth that came off was soaked through with blood. The muttered, "Jesus, Jethro," as the final layer came off got his attention.

Tony's pained eyes bored into his. "S'ok, Tony. Just gonna need a couple of stitches," Gibbs announced matter-of-factly with a shrug to mask his sudden feeling of vulnerability. He was more afraid than he was willing to admit, but he wanted and needed to hide it from Tony. All things considered, he really didn't know why, except he knew that Tony counted on him to be strong. More than once, while sneaking up on his team unawares, he had overheard Tony refer to him as a sort of superhero. Abby considered him indestructible, almost omnipotent, and McGee just seemed to be in constant awe of him. Ziva put it best when she said simply, "Because he is Gibbs!"

"More like a couple of dozen. Okay, this might sting," Tony stated, all business-like as he unscrewed the cap on the antiseptic. After washing away the dried blood and applying the antiseptic, Tony efficiently re-wrapped Gibbs' arm and secured the gauze in place with pre-measured lengths of tape from the dispenser.

"Not gonna be able to do much for your ribs, but let me look at your leg," Tony ordered.

They both froze and an awkward silence fell over them as the house continued to groan. Tony took the sound of crashing from above and the dust raining down on them as his cue to work faster, _much _faster.

"You know, believe it or not the boat saved my life," Gibbs stated as he let his head fall back against the wall. "I dove under it when the lights went out. Don't remember much after that, except waking up with it damn near crushing me. Crawled over here just before ...".

Realizing just how close he had come to actually _being _crushed, it was Gibbs turn to swallow hard. It was true; timing _was _everything. Ten more minutes and he would surely have ended up in pieces like the boat was now. He looked up to find Tony gaping at him as the realization hit him hard.

"Gonna need a splint if we're gonna get you out of here," Tony suggested as he treated the leg wound with the same efficiency as he did with Gibbs' arm.

"Under the workbench, there's some scrap lumber," Gibbs said before barking out a painful rib-jarring laugh at the absurdity of that statement. Everything around him was scrap lumber!

Tony couldn't help but laugh with him, and it seemed to ease the growing nervous tension. He dug through the remnants of the boat and held up various pieces of wood for Gibbs' inspection. Pleased to quickly find two suitable pieces, Tony grabbed a few of the t-shirts from the nearby pile to use to bind the splint to Gibbs' leg.

He was about to tear apart a black Brooks & Dunn t-shirt, but Gibbs yanked it out of his hands. At Tony's furrowed brow and barked 'Gibbs, what the hell', he muttered a semi-apologetic, "I'll explain later."

"Sorry, Boss. Didn't know you were such a big country music fan. Not really my thing. I'm more of a jazz man. You know, Miles Davis, Coltrane. At least we have one thing in common music-wise. We both hate that crap Abby listens to," Tony said with chuckle.

Gibbs barked out a laugh before being struck with a thought. "Hey, how the hell did you get here anyway?"

As he worked to get the makeshift splint in place, Tony ran down the events of the evening as if he was giving Gibbs a sit rep in the bullpen. Gibbs was proud and impressed, but not surprised that Tony had taken on the mantle of leadership. It suited him; it always had.

The sugar coating of how serious the situation really was began at the place in Tony's adventurous tale when he reached Gibbs' neighborhood. Gibbs watched the ever changing expressions on Tony's face and knew that he was holding something back. Gibbs didn't push, though; he would see it all soon enough, God willing.

"There. That should work until we can get you a real doctor," Tony said as he packed up the first aid kit and shoved it into his backpack. He pulled out another bottle of water then attempted to stand, only to be pulled back down when Gibbs grabbed his arm.

"Tony, you're bleeding," Gibbs declared when he noticed that Tony's pant leg was soaked with blood.

"It's probably nothing. Just a scratch; nail or something got me. C'mon, Gibbs, we gotta get you out of here."

"The hell it is! Sit your ass down and let me look at it," Gibbs barked, leaving no room for debate or discussion. As expected, Tony obeyed without further objection. "You got any scissors in there? Need to cut your pant leg."

Gibbs was all business as he looked Tony dead in the eye. Expecting him to whine and complain about having an expensive pair of designer jeans cut up, the mischievous twinkle that greeted him was disarming. The crooked, almost evil grin that followed was even more so.

"If you want me to take my pants off, Jethro, all you have to do is ask," Tony practically purred.

Tony DiNozzo, with his youthful good looks and impetuous charm, could turn any situation into something sexually charged. Unabashed teasing, flirting, and outright seduction were dangerous tools in his repertoire, and he was never afraid or ashamed to use them.

Caught off guard by the unexpected seductive tone in Tony's voice, Gibbs raised a challenging eyebrow. _'Two can play this game,'_ he thought.

"Well, DiNozzo, if we make it out of here, I might just take you up on that," Gibbs shot back, flashing a playful grin of his own.

Tony's wide eyes and hitched breath in response gave Gibbs hope, but the timing couldn't have been worse. Had Tony made that offer on any other Friday night, well, the possibilities of what _could _have followed were endless. But now was certainly not the time or the place to explore the possibilities. Aside from the obvious dangers, Gibbs was feeling dizzy and nauseous again.

Pushing aside his own pain for the time being, he gingerly leaned forward and grabbed Tony's backpack. With a shaky hand he used the small bandage scissors from the first aid kit to slowly cut Tony's pant leg all the way up to just above his knee. The fabric was all but glued to his skin by thick, coagulating blood. Gibbs apologized as he carefully pulled the denim away, yanking out a fair amount of hair in the process. Gibbs smirked, but for the most part ignored Tony's musing observation that he now understood what getting a leg-waxing felt like.

There was a deep, jagged cut and a thick trail of blood running down into Tony's boot. "Dammit," Gibbs cursed. "Tony, you've lost a lot of blood. You need fluids."

Gibbs twisted off the cap of Tony's bottle of water and ordered him to drink it - all of it. Again, Tony dutifully complied, but shook his head when Gibbs' offered him one of the power bars. Gibbs thrust it at him forcefully in a silent command. Tony rolled his eyes but took it, peeled back the wrapper, and made a show of gnawing off a large bite.

With his earlier adrenaline rush gone, Tony was beginning to pale and perspire, and his breathing was becoming shallow. Having no idea how much blood Tony had lost, though it was obviously a fair amount, Gibbs was concerned that he might very well go into shock. Seeing that the wound ended above the top of Tony's boot, Gibbs cleaned it using the rest of the antiseptic.

"Son of a bitch," Tony cried through clenched teeth as the antiseptic flowed into the wound. He balled his hands into fists and slammed his eyes shut. The pain caused his forehead to bead with sweat.

"Just breathe, Tony," Gibbs comforted as he patted Tony's shoulder.

Getting a jerky nod in response, Gibbs proceeded to wrap several layers of gauze tightly around Tony's calf to staunch the bleeding. Pulling two old, thin, worn towels from the rag pile, he tossed one to Tony and began tearing the other. Tony followed suit and together they tied strips around his leg to add pressure and to further secure the bandages.

With their wounds properly field dressed, they took a few minutes to rest and regroup until another crash from above reminded them how precarious their current situation was. Tony slowly stood and surveyed the basement for the best and, more importantly, quickest way out.

Retreating back to the window he had climbed through, Tony resorted to talking. "It won't be easy, Boss, but one of these windows is probably going to be our best bet. I was thinking if you could get up on the workbench, I could pull you out. But, I guess seeing how we're a pair of walking wounded, we may have to call in the cavalry," he suggested with a frown.

A moment later he cracked a smile. "Hey, the radio! A cop up the street gave me a police band radio. I_ might _be able to call and have him get an emergency crew down here."

Getting no response to his rescue plan, Tony turned around to find Gibbs lying on his side, unconscious.

Hobbling as quickly as his throbbing, bandaged leg would allow, he made his way back to Gibbs pleading, "Oh no, no, no! Don't you dare do this to me, Gibbs! Jethro!"

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: We do not own any recognizable characters or places. We are making no money from this and no copyright infringement intended!

* * *

><p>"Gibbs…hey, Gibbs…Jethro, stay with me. No sleeping now, okay, Boss? Need to get you out of here and then you can sleep all you want," Tony pleaded as he held the older man's weight gingerly, avoiding the worst of his wounds and pressure to his ribs even in his panic. His efforts were futile though, and Gibbs had slipped unshakably into unconsciousness, at least for the time being. Trembling fingers at Jethro's throat, Tony closed his eyes in relief when he felt the strong and rhythmic flutter beneath his fingertips and listened in the silence to the sound of the older man's heavy, drawn out breaths.<p>

Jesus, they needed to get out of this fucking basement and they needed to do it soon. The wound to Jethro's head looked superficial enough but clearly something had hit him hard enough to knock him out for a time and God knows what damage had been done inside that thick skull of his.

Cradling Gibbs in his arms a moment longer before reluctantly lowering him back to the cold concrete, Tony looked to the window in desperation. A few feet away, it might as well have been 100 miles. With Jethro's injuries and the piles of debris around them there was no way he could carry 175 pounds of dead weight even across the room. Dragging him far wasn't an option either, at least without risk of further harm to them both.

Tony needed help and he knew it. The only problem was, he would likely have to leave Gibbs to find it, something that went against every single one of his instincts. Giving in to the inevitable despite his screaming gut, Tony took a moment to clear a short path along the wall to the place beneath Jethro's former basement stairs where the heavy beam leaning down from above would provide some shelter and protection. Before he made another move, he pushed tentatively at the beam but felt no give. Using a bit more force, he managed to adequately convince himself that it was wedged firmly enough in place not to pose additional danger should things above choose to shift or collapse further.

Returning to Jethro's side, Tony knelt beside him and tried to choose the points on Gibbs' body that would cause him the least amount of pain and distress. "Sorry about this, Boss," he grunted as his hands slipped beneath Gibbs' shoulders and he pulled him awkwardly into the relatively sheltered hollow. Tony quickly dug in his pack and pulled out a clean t-shirt. Rolling it tight, he slipped it beneath Jethro's head and tried to ignore the little moan that slipped from between Gibbs' parted lips at the movement. Awake, Jethro could make a good show of hiding just how much he was hurting, but unconscious, his pain went unmasked.

"Gonna have to leave you for a minute, Gibbs. You need help and I can't bring you to the people who can help you so I'm gonna need them to come to us, okay? Don't know if you can hear me but I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I didn't come this far to…to fail, Boss. I didn't come this far to leave without you, do you understand me?" Tony felt tears gathering behind his eyes as his fingers found their way into Jethro's hair and began to stroke gently, rhythmically.

Gibbs remained silent and pale. In this space illuminated only by the glow of their flashlights, his skin seemed the same color as his ashen hair and brows, the uniformity of tone broken only by the pink stain of his parted lips.

Something pulled Tony forward, had him bending down awkwardly until his face was bare inches from Jethro's. He felt the whisper of life-affirming breath against his face, smelled the sweat and blood that clung to Gibbs' skin, and in that moment he made an impetuous decision. With the greatest reverence, Tony leaned in and pressed his lips to Jethro's slack mouth gently, fleetingly, and then hovered there for the space of a few precious heartbeats. Half of him expected his boss to rouse at the touch and hit him so hard his head spun around, but when there was no response, he chanced another chaste kiss to the older man's lips and a last lingering one against his greyed temple before finally relinquishing his hold.

With a last longing look, Tony turned for the window and the world beyond.

Going out the window proved to be a bit more complicated than coming in. Tony made a precarious set of steps from the surrounding debris which allowed him to at least get his arms out into the open air, but with nothing solid to grab on to and pull himself through the hole, it was a tremendous struggle that took all of his strength to accomplish. Any thoughts that remained of somehow getting Gibbs up through that high, narrow opening on his own were dashed as his ribs and belly grated painfully over the sill and he wriggled into the moonlit darkness above ground.

Tony blinked at the change in illumination. The basement had been pitch black with the exception of the light thrown by their flashlights, but here, the moon cast eerie, filmy shadows over the strange landscape.

Wasting no more time, Tony quickly extracted the small radio from his pack and turned the dial to the channel the emergency worker had told him to use. He flipped the power switch and immediately heard staticky and garbled voices coming back at him. Hope surging in his veins, he quickly pressed the button which allowed him to broadcast and spoke clearly into the radio.

"This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'm at 505 East Laurel Street and I need immediate assistance, over." He stopped and listened for a moment, hoping for a response. The voices on the channel continued their chatter but no one addressed him directly.

"I repeat: I am at 505 East Laurel and I have a seriously injured man in need of immediate assistance. Can anyone hear me? Please respond, over."

This time when he released the button the radio remained silent in his hand and on closer examination he found that the power light had gone out. Heart sinking, Tony growled in frustration and worked hard not to throw the radio across the yard. He'd known it was a gamble when he took it but he'd been hoping for a better result.

Perhaps the teams had moved close enough now that they could hear him? It felt like hours since he had left the reassuring circle of halogen lights several blocks away and yet he knew in total, it had been less than an hour. Tony moved toward the front of the house and strained to see or hear anything that seemed like a human presence.

"Hello," he called as loudly as his lungs would allow. "Hello, I need help. Can anyone hear me?" Tony cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed into the darkness. He waited, holding his breath, listening for anything that would give him hope. In the deeper silence he heard a buzz like that of a dozen angry bees and identified it as the now-familiar drone of chain saws. Realizing that the possibility of being heard was infinitesimal if his would-be rescuers were surrounded by that racket, he moved back to the window, his only way back to Jethro, and pulled out his cell phone.

Tony's first thought was to try and reach help through 911, but he quickly realized that the service must be completely overwhelmed with a crisis of this magnitude, and his call for help would be one of thousands that needed answering tonight. No, he needed help from inside, help from resources that weren't being sapped and spread far too thin in the current state of emergency. He needed strings pulled and he knew just the man to pull them.

Flipping open his phone, Tony cursed at the No Service message that lit up the top corner of his screen after a few moments of agonizing anxiety. There had to be a signal somewhere nearby, had to be. He refused to believe otherwise.

Face tilted skyward, Tony sucked in a deep breath and tried to release some of the tension that had his head spinning, his heart pounding, and his shoulders up over his ears. "Listen, I know we don't talk very much. To be honest, I'm not even sure who I'm talking to anymore, but I could really use some help right now." He felt like a complete idiot, even though there wasn't another living soul around to witness this little conversation, but he continued anyway. "See, there's a man down there and he needs me. Well, maybe I need him a little too…maybe more than I'd like sometimes, but that's beside the point. The point is, I can't help him by myself right now. I can't keep him safe. But I know people who can. I know how to save him if you can just…if you can just give me a little something to work with here. Anything at all would be good." Not sure exactly what he was expecting to come from the one-sided exchange but pretty sure it wasn't hurting anything, Tony concluded with a little nod of his head and returned his attention to the phone.

Slowly, he moved one step at a time back toward the front of the house, waiting to see if he could pick up any signal at all. Precious minutes were ticking away and he was having no luck. He'd paced the front of the house and then returned to the side, not comfortable going further from Jethro. He was just eying the roof of the garage-which looked remarkably intact considering the state of the house-when a single and rather tentative looking bar appeared on the indicator panel.

Freezing in his tracks, afraid to even lift the phone to his ear, Tony moved in slow motion, pressing his thumb hesitantly to the menu button and pulling up his recent calls before scrolling to McGee's name. "You better pick up, Probie," he muttered between clenched teeth as he waited.

Three rings, four…"McGee." Tim's voice sounded clearly from the speaker.

"McGEE!" Tony nearly whooped for joy at the sound of the younger man's voice but remembered to stand relatively still.

"Tony! Thank God. We've been worried sick since your call earlier. Where in the hell are you?" The young agent's relief as well as his genuine concern was evident.

"I'm at Gibbs' place. Well, I guess you could say I'm at what's left of Gibbs' place." He hesitated a moment. "He took a pretty direct hit."

"Tony, he's not…Gibbs is okay, right? I mean he's not…" McGee left the sentence hanging.

"No. He's alive. But he's hurt."

"Hurt how?" McGee interrupted nervously before Tony could continue.

"I don't know. Few broken ribs, wrist, maybe his leg. He's lost some blood, but the stubborn old bastard managed to bandage himself up before I even got here." The thought of Jethro's tenacious, innate strength brought a passing smile to his face before he continued. "But he passed out on me a minute ago and I don't think it's the first time so I'm guessing he's got a pretty bad concussion, maybe worse." He swallowed the last word. "Even if he was awake I couldn't…I had to come in a basement window, for Christ sake." Tony ran a shaking hand through his hair, all too aware of how desperate he sounded. "I can't get him out by myself, Tim. I need help."

"Tony, are you alright? You sound…"

"I'm fine." Tony cut him off. He wasn't important now. "Cut my leg on something in the basement but it's fine." He refused to admit that it wasn't fine even though his toes felt awfully numb and the wound pulsed and throbbed wetness even through the layers of bandage.

"What about rescue workers? There has to be someone that can…"

"They're too far away, and I won't leave him here. Jesus, the rest of the house could go any minute, McGee. It's a miracle it's held this long," Tony interrupted, glancing back to the open window for reassurance.

"What do you need me to do?" Tim was suddenly all business.

"Gibbs needs medical attention, and more than anything he needs to get the hell out of that house. I need you to find a way to get someone here ASAP, no matter what it takes, Probie. Call Vance, call SecNav, hell, call the fucking President. I don't care. Pull whatever strings you have to and get someone here to help him fast." Tony was starting to lose it a little bit, something he could hear in his own voice, and yet he suddenly found he couldn't rein it in.

"I've got it covered, Tony. If I have to hijack a chopper myself, we'll get him out of there," Tim promised sincerely.

Tony was shocked at the vehemence in McGee's voice. He wouldn't have thought McByTheBook had the stones for something like that but maybe he was wrong. "I know you'll do what it takes, Tim." He took a deep breath, realizing he already felt less alone. "McGee?" he shouted into the phone when there was no response after a few seconds. "McGee!" Realizing quickly that it was a lost cause and the connection had been broken, Tony flipped the phone closed with a sigh.

He'd done what he could. He'd gotten through to someone who could help, and there was nothing more to do for the time being but go back and be with Jethro, nothing more to do but wait for help to arrive and once again trust both of their lives to the people who held them in their hands day after day.

"Hurry, McGee," Tony whispered as he turned back to the window. "Hurry."

* * *

><p>Chaos had taken over the Navy Yard and by extension NCIS Headquarters. The sudden arrival of a severe cluster of storms that the greater D.C. area had not seen in nearly a decade had caught most everyone by surprise. Civil Defense sirens blared outside alerting all within earshot of the impending danger. Cars and the guard house at the main gate were abandoned as people caught in the raging tempest ran for the relative safety of the building.<p>

The internal emergency warning system wailed, creating a controlled panic as personnel scampered to designated shelter areas. As McGee descended the stairs leading a group down to Autopsy, he was reminded of his first time executing emergency procedures; that fateful day so many years ago when Tony opened an innocent-looking envelope.

Worried when his call to the lab went unanswered, McGee was relieved to find Abby already among the dozen or so others who had taken refuge there. A mix of second shift personnel, who hadn't left before the storm hit, and incoming third shift personnel milled about while they waited for word.

Leaving Ducky to regale the huddled masses with a long-winded tale to keep them distracted, McGee snuck away. Sitting at Ducky's desk and called up the local news on his computer. McGee sighed with relief when the meteorologists showed the projected track of the strongest storm cell moving north-northeasterly, keeping its track safely west of the Navy Yard. However, a wide, green computer generated arrow lower on the map crossed right over a large section of Alexandria to the southwest.

The meteorologists manning the station's weather desk excitedly relayed information as it came in from The National Weather Service, The Storm Prediction Center, and trained spotters dispatched to various points around the county. Each report that came in was more chilling than the last. The "Channel 5 Weather Team" took full advantage of the opportunity to showcase all of the technology at their disposal.

McGee watched in stunned silence as a series of graphics and computer models appeared on the monitor. Wind speeds, rotation, vectors, dew points, inflow and outflow boundaries, all technical jargon that normally held no meaning but now painted a dire picture. His eyes went wide when street names appeared as one meteorologist zoomed in on the current Doppler radar image. The menacing hook echo at the back edge of a dark-red blob indicated that a large tornado was directly over a four-block Alexandria neighborhood comprised of E. Maple, E. Walnut, E. Linden, and E. Laurel Street.

McGee's heart sank. Gibbs lived on E. Laurel Street.

Returning to the bullpen forty minutes later after getting the all-clear, McGee washed down two Advil that Ducky had given him with the last of his cold coffee. Between the incessant alarm and accompanying flashing lights and Abby's whiny, repeated, high-pitched, screechy demands that he "Do something, McGee!" as she clung to him, McGee worried that the pounding in his head was a precursor to a full-blown migraine.

He should have been at home working on his latest book or fighting off a horde of alien invaders online like most Friday nights, but instead he felt duty-bound to wait around for Abby to finish up in the ballistics lab. Her roadster was in the shop and wouldn't be ready until Saturday at noon. Ziva had a date and couldn't wait around for Abby to finish her work, so McGee stepped up and offered to drive her home instead. Abby insisted on buying him dinner as a thank you, but those plans were obviously scuttled. Right now, McGee was just glad she was there with him, safe and out of harm's way.

McGee kept his phone clutched in his hand in the hope that Tony would call him back soon, very soon, to report that all was well, but his gut - his head and his heart - knew better. He chided himself for not trying harder to convince Tony to stay home instead of heading out on a foolish rescue mission on his own, not that Tony would have listened. McGee couldn't define exactly what it was about the two of them, but when it came to Gibbs, Tony had tunnel vision.

In order to stop Abby's desperate pleading, pacing, fidgeting, and nervous hand wringing, McGee sat her down in Tony's chair and pulled the local news feed up on the plasma. Together they watched in horror as teams of local and national reporters and camera crews converged on the city brought the first live pictures of the unimaginable devastation just a few miles away. The toll-free Red Cross Disaster Hotline number repeatedly scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

Damage was wide-spread from at least three confirmed tornadoes, the largest of which touched down 20 miles south of D.C. near Lorton. It cut a wide path of destruction as it hopped and skipped its way through towns along I-95 before finally dissipating over the Potomac. It was the green-arrow path that McGee had seen less than an hour ago.

Two weaker tornadoes had been reported on the ground by county sheriff's deputies south of Springfield and northwest of Manassas. Reports of wide-spread minor damage were beginning to flood in. Straight-line winds had knocked down trees and power lines in several areas of northern Virginia and across the Potomac into D.C. proper. Reston and Arlington to the west and most of Georgetown north of the Potomac were without power, but structural damage was mostly limited to shingles being blown off of houses, broken glass from swirling debris, and downed tree limbs and power lines blocking roadways.

All eyes were on Alexandria, which, by all accounts, suffered the brunt of the storm's fury. Parts of the densely-populated area were decimated and unrecognizable. All area hospitals, military and civilian, were recalling staff as mass casualties were expected. The unconfirmed death toll stood at two, and no one dared speculate how high it might climb.

Preliminary estimates by the National Weather Service put the Lorton tornado at a devastating EF3, with winds in excess of 136 to 165 miles per hour, or possibly an unimaginable EF4, with winds of up to 200 miles per hour. Of course, it would take days or weeks of expert assessment of the damage to confirm, but the expert being interviewed on ZNN feared the latter.

"Oh my God, Gibbs," Abby exclaimed mutely through her hands that were clamped firmly over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to burst out.

Growing up in the bayou parishes of Louisiana, Abby was no stranger to the awesome, unpredictable, and often lethal power of Mother Nature. Frantic, with jet-black tears now streaming unabated down her cheeks, Abby jumped up and threw her arms around McGee's neck and began to sob. He hugged her tightly while watching dimly lit scenes on the plasma of emergency workers pulling injured people from their collapsed homes. McGee knew things would look worse - much worse - in the daylight.

"May I have your attention please?" a loud voice boomed from the stairs. Activity in all areas of the squad room ceased immediately as all eyes turned to Leon Vance, whose mere presence commanded undivided attention.

"I know you've all been watching the news reports, as have I. I've just come from a briefing with Sec Nav, the Secretary of Defense, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. NCIS will be working in concert with various Navy and Marine units and the National Guard to assist with City and County rescue and relief efforts. We will provide the communications capabilities to coordinate those efforts. The Red Cross has asked for our help as well. They are sending a team to set up a mobile blood bank. I encourage everyone to donate. Communications may be down, but I urge you to call and check on your families. No one is to leave the building until the roads are cleared and it is deemed safe to travel. Until then, this agency still has work to do," Vance announced before descending the stairs.

He stepped into the bullpen as McGee tried to comfort and reason with a frantic Abby, who was hell bent on leaving to find Gibbs. Tugging on his arm in a vain attempt to drag him to the elevator, Abby plead desperately, "We have to go, McGee - now! Gibbs needs us! He could be hurt. You know he would do the same for us. And what about Tony? What if something happened to him? Please, McGee?"

"Agent McGee, sit rep. Any word yet from the rest of your team," Vance barked authoritatively, stopping Abby in her tracks. He gnawed impatiently on a toothpick as McGee peeled Abby off and stammered out what little he knew.

Fortunately, Ducky, the wise voice of reason, and Palmer had arrived to offer their assistance. "Come here, my dear," Ducky offered with open arms, which Abby was drawn to immediately. He took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and placed it gently in her shaky hand. "There, there now, Abigail. Dry your eyes. Jethro will be fine, you mark my words. Anthony will make sure of it."

Grateful to be relieved of the burden of an hysterical Abby, McGee turned to Vance and cleared his throat. "Um, all I know - Director - is that Tony, sorry Agent DiNozzo, is okay. He's, um, on his way to Gibbs' house. I'm, um, waiting for an update from Tony - Sir. Oh, and Ziva called. She's at home and okay."

As if on cue, McGee's cell phone rang. Vance raised a questioning eyebrow at the "James Bond" theme music ringtone.

"It's Tony," McGee announced. He stepped away and tried to listen to the crackling, static-filled voice. The others slowly gathered around and watched McGee's brow furrow as he tried to cypher the fragmented bits and pieces of information. There was a lengthy pause as McGee jotted down details of whatever information Tony was giving him. The waiting was interminable. "Okay. Hang on, Tony, I'm on my way. Tony? TONY?" he shouted, getting a series of beeps indicating the call had dropped.

"Director, I need to get to Gibbs' house - now," McGee declared. "Tony is with him, but they ...," he paused to swallow hard. "They're trapped in the basement. Gibbs' house - Tony's afraid it's about to collapse. Says it took a pretty direct hit. Gibbs is alive, but he's hurt - not sure how bad. From what I could make out, Gibbs has a broken leg and I think broken ribs. He is unconscious, but breathing okay. Pretty sure he has a concussion. Tony's hurt too, but not bad - or so he says. I don't think emergency crews are there yet. Tony just said they need our help."

Vance sprang into action, picking up the nearest phone and dialing a number by rote. While he waited for the call to connect, he barked, "Doctor Mallard, we're going to need all the first aid supplies you have. Most of the roads are impassable, so I'm going to see if we can't get air transport. Sec Nav owes me a favor. McGee, think you can handle leading a rescue mission?"

"Of course, Sir," McGee replied without hesitation. He didn't have a choice. His boss and his friend, hell, his family needed him. McGee knew that Vance would use his influence and make whatever deals were necessary to get help for his best agent and, despite all outward signs to the contrary, one of his most trusted friends.

"Mr. Secretary, Leon Vance. We have a situation here. Gonna need to call in that favor," Vance stated.

As he listened to their esteemed Director negotiate with Sec Nav, McGee dropped down into his chair and nervously gnawed on this thumbnail. "How the hell am I gonna get them out by myself. I can't. I can't do this alone," he thought, suddenly realizing the enormity of the situation.

As if Ducky had been reading his thoughts, he stepped forward and announced, "I shall go with you, Timothy. Jethro and Anthony are obviously in need of immediate medical attention. Let me go and gather my things."

"Um, with all due respect, Doctor Mallard, I should go. Tim is gonna need help getting Agent Gibbs out of the house - especially if Tony is hurt too."

McGee sat back and shook his head as the exchange played out before him. At times Ducky and Palmer bickered like an old married couple, but they always kept it respectful.

Palmer had been diplomatic in his delivery, but the message he conveyed was clear. Ducky, as determined and willing as he may be, was simply too old to be involved in such a physically demanding rescue mission. Palmer, on the other hand, was much younger, physically fit, and deceptively strong despite his slender build. He may not have Ducky's experience in a triage setting, but he was more than capable of administering any medical care that may be needed.

The squabble was short lived as Ducky relented gracefully. "Very well then, Mister Palmer. I shall leave Anthony and Jethro in your capable hands. Now, let us go and gather those supplies," Ducky suggested with a proud grin as he clapped a hand on Palmer's shoulder and steered him to the elevator.

Twenty minutes later, Ducky and Palmer returned with a backpack filled with adhesive bandages, Ace bandages for Gibbs' broken ribs, syringes, blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, several lengths of clear tubing, bags of IV fluids, and vials of injectable medications. It was hoped that nothing more than the bandages would be needed, but Ducky thought it best to be prepared for any contingency.

While McGee got his gear together, Abby helped get Palmer outfitted with an earwig and com. He had changed out of scrubs and into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. His cross-trainer shoes weren't ideal footwear for a disaster area, but they would have to do. Abby handed him an official NCIS field jacket and cap to wear in case anyone decided to mistake him and McGee for looters.

"Okay," Vance announced when he appeared a few minutes later. "A Marine helo out of PAX River is on the way. They're ten minutes out. The Navy and Marines have been doing flyovers of the area to coordinate where assistance is needed. Best they can do is set down in the parking lot of the elementary school two blocks from Gibbs' place, just long enough to unload you and your gear. Whole damn town looks like a war zone, but you should be able to manage on foot. Be careful and good luck, gentlemen. Agent McGee, I expect you to report in when you get there - keep me apprised of the situation. We'll have the helo pick you up when they are available if we can't get an ambulance to you."

Abby hugged McGee and Palmer tightly before falling back into Ducky's grandfatherly embrace. She dabbed at her mascara-free eyes. "Go bring them home," she pled.

"Do be careful, my dear boys," Ducky admonished. "I want you all back here safe and sound."

Nodding solemnly in tandem, McGee and Palmer picked up their gear and headed for the waiting elevator. Somehow word of Gibbs' dire predicament had already made the rounds, as intra-office news often did, and wishes of good luck followed them.

Vance watched from the large squad room windows as McGee and Palmer climbed aboard the helicopter waiting for them in the VIP parking lot below. As the helicopter slowly rose and flew off into the night, he sent up a silent prayer for their safe return and for Gibbs and DiNozzo to make it out alive.

* * *

><p>The rotor blades of the Bell UH-1N added to the gusty winds coming in from the northwest as the cold front that had triggered the storms moved through. McGee and Palmer crouched down and scurried to the open door where they were met by the Huey's crew chief, Lt. Col. Walker.<p>

He helped secure their gear and fit them with headsets so that they could communicate with each other and with the pilots. Speaking over the loud "thwack thwack" of the rotor blades and roar of the two powerful Pratt & Whitney engines was out of the question. Once McGee and Palmer were buckled in and mic checks were completed, Lt. Col. Walker signaled for the pilots to take off.

"You boys okay," Lt. Col. Walker asked, noticing how his passengers both had a death grip on their jump seats.

"Yeah, fine," McGee replied, hoping he didn't sound as scared as he was. "Just worried. My boss and teammate are trapped. Gotta get 'em out."

Lt. Col. Walker nodded in understanding. He'd flown more sorties into hot zones to extract troops after missions and countless medevac runs to bring back dead and wounded soldiers after fire fights and IED explosions.

"Colonel," the co-pilot called out. "We got a location?"

While Palmer sat with his head between his knees to ward off air sickness, McGee used the locator app on his iPhone to get a GPS location for Gibbs' address. Looking out the window as the helicopter circled around to approach the planned landing site, McGee was struck by the miles of utter devastation as the powerful helo lights scanned the scene below.

"Dear God," escaped as a desperate, breathless whisper. There were no identifiable landmarks left standing and really no way to even be sure they were over Gibbs' neighborhood.

"Agent McGee! We need coordinates," Lt. Col. Walker declared.

McGee snapped out of his shock and fumbled with his phone. If the nearest cell tower was standing and if it was not over-taxed, he should be able to get a fix on Tony's phone.

"Come on, come on," McGee growled at the insolent device until it beeped, and a map appeared with the coordinates. He immediately relayed the information to the pilot and co-pilot. The hulking helicopter pitched violently and flew in a long, high-banked, sweeping arc around the target area.

"Oh my God," Palmer called out, holding onto to his seat for dear life. Lt. Col. Walker grinned at his terrified passenger. It wouldn't be the first time someone lost their lunch in front of him during a flight.

The co-pilot pointed out the school, which looked to have been for the most part spared, and confirmed it would be a suitable place to set down.

"Roger that," the pilot replied, hovering 20 feet above the shattered remains of a nondescript suburban house.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you to everyone for your feedback and support! We know cliffhangers are evil, but in this story they are absolutely necessary! LOL! Next up: The rescue!<em>**

**_ - Kat and Mary_**


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Sunday! **

**Once again we wish to thank so many of you who have told us how much you're loving this story. We're elated! Thank you to a newer reader Paige who left us several wonderful guest reviews that we couldn't reply to. We still appreciate them! **

**This is a bit of a long chapter but things will be moving along quickly from here on out! We would like to apologize in advance: With the American Thanksgiving holiday coming up this week we may be taking a week off as we will be busy with family events and preparations. It is possible we could surprise ourselves and find adequate writing time this week but we thought it best to let you know that there might be the possibility of a longer wait. **

**Thank you for reading!**

* * *

><p>Having done all he could do for the time being, Tony was anxious to return and check on Gibbs. His battered and bruised body protested as he once again lowered himself through the window and made his way carefully to where he had left him.<p>

The house seemed to have settled into some kind of precarious balance and things had remained much as he'd left them only a few minutes ago. As a bit of extra insurance, Tony took a moment and wrangled an errant piece of plywood into the space below the beam, propping it against the wall to create a snug enclosure that might offer some scant protection if things took a turn for the worse before help arrived.

Tony crouched down on his knees on the concrete and spent a few minutes watching the gentle rise and fall of Gibbs' chest before he began to relax a bit. He was just as he had left him, pale head resting gently against the white of Tony's balled-up t-shirt. Convinced that Gibbs was no worse off than he had been, Tony settled against the wall with a sigh, resting his head back and closing his eyes as he tried to will the adrenaline out of his system and slow his pounding heart.

Help was coming. _McGee_ was coming. He tried to let that thought sink in, but in this small corner, alone with Gibbs in the darkness, the world and the weight of his responsibility still hounded him oppressively.

Tony's fingers snuck below Gibbs' chin, grazed across his too-cold skin, lingered at the pulse of his throat. There was life flowing beneath his fingertips, strong and steady, and the gentle thrum of it beat a counterpoint to his own racing heart, finally succeeding in calming him just a little.

"You can wake up any time now, Gibbs," Tony murmured quietly as he gently lifted Jethro's head and moved so that it rested against his thigh rather than the thin pillow of his t-shirt. He tried to convince himself that the move was solely for Gibbs' comfort but the truth was, he found himself craving the close contact.

Tony's eyes settled on Gibbs' lips and his mouth flooded with the remembered taste of the other man's skin. _Shit. _He'd actually done it. He'd kissed Gibbs. Tony wanted to convince himself that somehow it didn't count because Jethro wasn't aware of it, wouldn't have the memory to carry around with him the way Tony did, but he knew it was a lame excuse. He had taken something he wanted, something he needed in that moment, and no amount of unconsciousness on Gibbs' part was going to negate the experience.

The floor was cold beneath him, and Tony shivered even though it felt good against the heated pulse of pain in his lower leg. Wiggling his toes, he winced at the tight stab of discomfort, the wetness he was now sure he felt. Reaching into his pack, he brought out another bottle of water and sipped tentatively, realizing that the fatigue and vague nausea slowly creeping over him might not be the best sign. He really needed to stay awake.

Concerned that the cool concrete might be sapping vital warmth from Jethro's already taxed body, Tony slowly and carefully propped Gibbs up so that he rested against his chest and his head lolled against Tony's shoulder. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought of the strange picture the two of them made in their current positions.

Jethro stirred fitfully for a few seconds but showed no real signs of rousing. Supporting the back of the other man's neck, Tony held the water bottle to his lips and poured a small mouthful in, waiting until Gibbs had swallowed reflexively before repeating the process. It was a little messy but he felt like he had to do _something_ more than just waiting. When Jethro had drunk nearly half the bottle, Tony finished it off and then ate half of a protein bar, already noticing that the sour feeling in his stomach was beginning to lessen.

A quick once-over of all Gibbs' splints and bandages convinced Tony that he was as stable and as comfortable as he was going to get and he settled back against the wall, trying to ignore just how good it felt to have Gibbs pressed this close to him. There was an undeniable comfort in the firm weight of Jethro's body resting against his, in their warmth mingling through the layers of their clothing. Tony wished desperately that the circumstances were different, that there was any way on this earth Gibbs would surrender to his touch consciously, allow himself to be held in the circle of his arms of his own volition.

In order to distract himself, Tony switched on his Maglite again and began poking it into the corners of the room on either side of him, really looking at the jumbled mess now that he had time for a more thorough assessment.

There were recognizable parts of Gibbs' life everywhere amongst the rubble. The shattered remains of the little black and white TV, whose staticy voice had kept them company over so many glasses of Bourbon, were visible beneath a pile of jagged floorboards. The tattered pages of a favored book from the shelves upstairs now collected dust in an empty space on the concrete. Each thing out of place, each telling its own tale of woe, adding its own weight to the heaviness that had begun to form in his heart when he'd first entered through the front door.

"You know, I think I might miss this place almost as much as you will, Boss." Tony's thumb stroked gently over the back of Gibbs' uninjured hand.

He closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the familiar scent of the air around him, knowing this would be his last time in this space. After coughing a little at the dust, Tony allowed a slightly melancholy sigh to escape his throat at the thought. Despite the new scents of plaster, insulation, and blood, he still automatically keyed in to the subtly sweet smell of hardwood and sawdust. His brain filled in other details, and Tony swore he could almost feel the cloying burn of Bourbon sliding down his throat, the rich grain of wood beneath his hands.

"I liked us here, Gibbs," Tony confessed to the unconscious man cradled against his chest." I liked how I felt when I was here with you." That annoying warmth and pressure was gathering behind his eyes again despite his best efforts. "All those times when it was just you and me? All the times when I…When I didn't know what to do or who to be or how to feel, this stupid basement was always the place I wanted to be, sometimes without even knowing why. It just always felt safe somehow, you know?" His fingers moved unconsciously back to the surprising softness of Jethro's hair. "You made me feel safe." Now he felt wetness against his cheeks.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Tony swiped at his eyes and continued. "Kind of ironic that when I first met you I thought you might be some kind of closet sociopath, spending all your free time in your basement drinking alone and building boats. I mean, I never even saw you sail one of them." He hesitated before continuing. "Think it took me two years to realize this was the one place in the world you didn't feel alone, Gibbs." Tony almost whispered this into the silence, perhaps unconsciously afraid of disturbing or offending the ghosts of all the memories that resided here.

Tony was tired. Bone tired. Talking had helped but his eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. He let his head fall back again, careful to still support Jethro's body, and allowed his mind drift, silently sorting through a dozen years of memories and not even realizing when he crossed the line from waking dream to sleep.

The unmistakable sound of a helicopter hovering in a low pattern very close by jolted Tony awake. Acting on instinct, he curled protectively around Gibbs, afraid that the vibration from the chopper overhead would disturb the balance of the few tons of house waiting for the right opportunity to collapse onto their heads. Indeed, Tony heard several small avalanches in the superstructure above them and more dust and debris rained down into the lower level. Tony had chosen well, however, and their little shelter remained stable. It took a few minutes for things to settle down again and by the time Tony relaxed, the helo had moved on.

"That's my Probie," Tony muttered with a sleepy grin, absolutely certain that the low flying chopper seemingly circling Gibbs' home could mean only one thing.

Feeling groggy and a little disoriented, Tony took a minute to reassess his surroundings. He was safe, he was warm, he was thirsty, he was tired beyond belief, his leg hurt, and Gibbs appeared to be sleeping soundly against his chest. All in all, things weren't too bad if you ignored the fact that they were still undeniably trapped in the lowest level of a slowly crumpling house.

"Guess thinking I could run away from spending another Friday night in your basement kinda backfired on me, eh, Gibbs?" There was no answer to his question with the exception of a quiet moan from Gibbs at the slight jostling he received. The silence didn't stop Tony from continuing. "You know, you didn't have to go to all this trouble just to get me to change my mind, Gibbs. I would have come…eventually." And he would have. He had been on the very edge of it sitting at his piano bench earlier, though the memory seemed weeks ago rather than hours.

"I know you would have."

The soft and gravelly voice coming from the region of Tony's shoulder made him stiffen and he had to fight every instinct not to immediately attempt to extricate himself from the position he had been enjoying far too much. Thankfully, the panic at the realization that Gibbs was awake was overwhelmed by the _relief _that Gibbs was awake and Tony relaxed.

Slightly.

"Glad you could make it back, Boss," Tony said gently. His fingers were frozen in Gibbs' hair but he was afraid that moving them now would only draw more attention to the fact that he had been softly caressing the back of the other man's head until a moment ago.

Gibbs grunted softly and shifted a little against Tony's chest but made no further move to change positions. "How long was I out?"

"An hour, tops. Probably less. Kind of dozed off myself for a minute there," Tony admitted.

"Water?" Gibbs asked, his voice sounding weaker than Tony liked. "My whole damn mouth tastes like plaster dust."

"Right here." Tony reached into his pack and brought out his last bottle, unscrewing the top before placing it in Jethro's good hand.

"Sit rep?" Gibbs asked after a few sips, handing the bottle to Tony with the clear demand that they share it. "Did I just hear a helicopter up top?"

"I got a call out to McGee and unless I miss my guess, that was the cavalry approaching." Tony grinned as he passed the bottle back once again.

Gibbs nodded. "That was good work. Knew McGee would get the job done." Having apparently drunk his fill, he handed the water back to Tony who capped it and set it within easy reach, then relaxed back against Tony's chest.

"You know, we can move if you want to, Gibbs," Tony offered lamely, not quite sure how to deal with a conscious Jethro who wasn't protesting something that felt uncomfortably close to cuddling. "See, the floor was really cold and I…"

"You comfortable?" Gibbs asked simply, cutting off any further attempt at explanation.

"Yeah. I am," Tony admitted. "I just wasn't sure you would be."

"I can't say this is the most comfortable I've been in my life, what with the cracked ribs and all, but I'm damn sure it beats lying on the cement. Why move?"

"Can't think of a reason, Gibbs." Not sure if the room spinning was due to blood loss, the feel of Jethro's breath against his collar bone, or a combination of both, Tony hesitantly let his fingers resume their motion against Gibbs' scalp.

"Why did you do it?" Jethro's voice broke the few-moment's silence.

"Why did I do what?" Tony was genuinely confused. He'd done about a million things tonight that probably deserved some sort of apologetic rationale but he wanted Gibbs to narrow it down first.

"Why did you tell me you weren't coming tonight?" Gibbs' voice had taken on that calm tone he often used in interrogation that said he secretly knew the answer to the question he was asking and was just waiting patiently for a confession.

Taking a deep breath, Tony set his jaw, realizing that this might just be the best opportunity he had for honesty. After all, Gibbs was probably too weak to kill him right now. "I was afraid," he confessed.

"Afraid of me?" Jethro pressed, though it sounded more a statement than a question.

"Kind of." Tony tried to think of the best way to put it that had the least likelihood of getting him fired or injured. "I think I was more afraid of me." The words came more easily than he thought they would.

"There something I should know, Tony?" Jethro's gaze was steady in the muted light.

"Probably more than you're ready to hear, Gibbs." His heart was suddenly beating a little faster.

"Try me."

Lining up the words in his head, Tony let them march slowly over his tongue, trying to keep his voice steady. "I like spending time with you, Gibbs. More than I thought I would when we started hanging out more often. More than I…more than I think I should. Probably more than you want me to." He looked down at Jethro, adamantly refusing to turn away from it this time.

"That so?" Gibbs didn't blink.

Tony nodded. "I didn't mean for it to happen. One night it was just beers and steaks and good friends and the next…I liked it when you put your hands on me, _really _liked it, _or_ when you laughed next to my ear. Hell, I even liked it when you snored on the couch during the game on Sundays. I liked it too much. And now I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make it stop now that it's there, Gibbs, but I'll try. I promise I'll try. I don't want things to change but I…I was afraid you'd be able to tell if I came tonight-kind of stupid considering I'm spilling my guts all over your basement floor right now-and I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose this." He was out of words. The ones he had spoken hung in the air between them as palpably as the plaster dust and he waited for the inevitable.

Minutes seemed to tick by before Gibbs responded. "What if I don't want you to stop?" he finally asked.

"What?" Tony was sure it must be the concussion talking. Either that or he was still dreaming.

"What if I think I might want things to change?" Gibbs seemed to be turning the thought over in his head.

"Are we talking about the same kind of change here, Gibbs? Because I…"

"I know what we're talking about, Tony." Jethro raised his hand and brushed his knuckles against Tony's cheek, effectively muting the rest of his sentence.

The feel of Gibbs' fingers sliding lingeringly down the side of his face made Tony shudder and he ignored the lights that were suddenly flashing behind his eyes. The rush of blood in his ears obliterated all sound for a moment and just as he was about to respond…

"_Palmer, over here! Tony? Gibbs? We're here! Talk to me!"_

McGee's shouts finally filtered through his fog and Tony was filed with simultaneous floods of relief, regret, and the ever unlooked for, hope.

Rescue had arrived.

* * *

><p>The pilots skillfully set the hulking helicopter down in the middle of the school's parking lot and cut back the power on the powerful engines. Lt. Col. Walker opened the door and stepped out.<p>

"Good luck. Hope your friends are safe. May take us a while to get back here, but we'll stand by for your call," he yelled over the roaring helicopter engines after helping unload McGee, Palmer, and their gear.

"Thanks," McGee shouted back, flashing a thumbs up as Walker scrambled back inside and slid the heavy door closed. "C'mon Jimmy," he said, picking up their backpacks and leading a still queasy Palmer away from the dangerous rotor blades spinning overhead.

Armed only with flashlights, it was slow going as McGee took point and lead Palmer through a maze of uprooted trees, piles of personal belongings, furniture, portions of roofs, and cars that had been tossed like toys.

McGee grew frustrated having to yell back at Palmer to keep up and to watch where he was going. Wide-eyed and ambling mindlessly, Palmer seemed to be in a perpetual state of awe at the surreal landscape and stopped several times to examine a photograph or other memento he found along the way.

"Palmer," McGee barked, "We don't have time for this! Tony and Gibbs are hurt, remember? Now get up here, and for God's sake be careful."

The rest of their trek was made in relative silence, except for the occasional "Oh my God," mumbled along the way. Hazarding looks to his right, McGee could see that Palmer, well-known for possessing great compassion, was struggling to process the unbelievable scale of the tragedy surrounding them. The images on TV did not do it justice. Even from the air it hadn't seemed real, but now, standing among the remains of the quiet suburban neighborhood, it was too real. The tornado that tore up both homes and lives had shown no mercy on anything that dared stand in its path.

McGee wasn't faring much better than Palmer, but one thing stopped him in his tracks. Standing at a crosswalk, he cocked his head and stared at the street sign across the street. It was completely intact, except for the metal post being bent well past 90 degrees. At the sight of "E. Laurel St." in white lettering on the standard green background, McGee didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Half a block down the street, McGee stopped again in front of an oddly familiar house. The only confirmation that they had reached Gibbs' place was the black 505 near the front door. _'DiNozzo must have been exaggerating'_, McGee thought, because from where he stood the damage didn't look all that bad. With his carpentry skills, McGee figured it might take Gibbs a couple of weeks, maybe a month, to repair the damage.

Finding Palmer standing quietly beside him, gaping in disbelief, McGee pulled out his phone and hit the speed-dial number for Tony. He waited as it rang twice then dropped. Two more attempts yielded the same result.

"Dammit," McGee shouted in frustration. "No signal. Guess it's not surprising though. Come on, Palmer. Tony said he went in through a basement window."

Guided only by the beams of their flashlights, McGee and Palmer navigated around to the back of the house. Off to their right, about twenty five feet from the house, stood the detached two-stall garage, which to McGee's relief and surprise appeared to have been left relatively unscathed. His jaw dropped seconds later, however, when he turned and saw that Gibbs' house had not fared nearly as well. In fact, he was stunned that it was still standing.

"Dear God," McGee exclaimed, barely above a mournful whisper. He could hear creaking and groaning as what remained of the former two-story house settled. Sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the structure, it looked nearly sheared in half. Most, if not all, of the roof was missing, random sections of the wood siding had been torn off, and all of the windows had been blown out or shattered as the house collapsed in on itself.

"Jesus Palmer, we better hurry," McGee declared. "Tony? DiNozzo? Boss? Can you hear me? It's McGee. Palmer's with me. Are you guys okay?" He quickly went from window to window, crouching down and shining his flashlight inside in a valiant attempt to locate Tony and Gibbs. Seeing nothing but shattered debris everywhere the beam of light fell, McGee started to lose hope.

"Oh thank God!" McGee muttered in relief when he reached the last window. Tony and Gibbs were huddled together in a makeshift shelter beneath the stairs, or more accurately what remained of the stairs. The indirect light from a flashlight lying on the ground cast a muted glow around them. Peering in more closely, McGee stared in curious wonder at the tableau before him.

He should have been shocked seeing Tony leaning back against the wall holding Gibbs protectively against his chest, but he honestly wasn't. In fact, the sight of Gibbs' bandaged head resting on Tony's shoulder seemed oddly normal. Tony was gently running his fingers through Gibbs' hair and talking to him, though McGee couldn't hear what was being said. From his vantage point, he couldn't discern whether or not Gibbs was even conscious. It wasn't until he saw Gibbs bring a shaky hand up to stroke Tony's cheek that he knew - he knew it all.

Abby, the hopeless romantic, had been trying to convince him for years that Gibbs and Tony had deep, romantic feelings for each other, but both were too stubborn or too stupid to admit it. McGee always snorted at the idea as being ridiculous, but now he had to admit - they sure didn't look like just boss and subordinate. He didn't know what to think, but despite the circumstances he felt like a voyeur observing a very intimate moment.

"Focus," he scolded himself, remembering the dire situation they were in. Now was definitely _not_ the time to let some fairy tale notion of something hinky going on between Tony and Gibbs cloud this thoughts.

"Palmer, over here! Tony? Gibbs? We're here. Talk to me," McGee shouted into the darkness of the basement before shining his light in the window.

"McGee! Gremlin! Thank God! Get your asses in here. Jethro - Gibbs - needs help," Tony demanded. "But be careful! I cleared a little path, but there's still a lot of bare wires and shit everywhere."

"Hang on," McGee yelled back. "Palmer, you go in first and I'll hand this stuff to you," McGee suggested, dropping both of their backpacks on the ground next to the window.

Once Palmer was safely inside, McGee shoved their backpacks through the window and followed suit. With four flashlights shining brightly, they made their way across the room without incident.

McGee stood by while Palmer and Tony got Gibbs moved out into the open. Tony was nervously mumbling something about the floor being cold and wet and he was worried about Gibbs going into shock. Palmer responded to Tony's concerns by taking off his jacket and laying it on the floor. That simple, almost chivalrous act seemed to appease Tony, who was able to shimmy his way out from behind Gibbs and help lay him out on the floor so that Palmer would have room to work treating his wounds.

"Help me up, McGee," Tony requested, holding his arms out. McGee obliged and helped Tony to his feet, then instantly found himself pulled into a rib-crushing hug. "God, I'm glad you're here, Probie," Tony said around a heartbreaking sob.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay, Tony. We'll get Gibbs patched up and get you guys out of here," McGee announced once he was released. Stepping back to look his partner over, he didn't think too much about Tony's shredded pant leg at first, but upon closer inspection he noticed the blood-soaked bandages.

"Jesus, Tony! Are you okay? Your leg - what happened?" McGee demanded. He picked up a toppled old wooden chair and motioned for Tony to sit.

Tony rolled his eyes but complied. "M'fine, McGee. Just a scratch; it's nothing to freak out about. Probably just need a couple of stitches – but we need to get the hell out of here first," Tony grumbled, crossing his arms petulantly as if challenging McGee to push him on the issue.

Getting the expected "I'm fine" answer from Tony, McGee narrowed his eyes but backed off. Now was not the time to argue. He knew that Tony hated hospitals and doctors as much as Gibbs did, so he made a mental note to make sure Tony got checked out when they reached Bethesda.

Scanning the room with this flashlight, it became abundantly clear that the window was the only means of ingress and egress. Even if the stairs had been intact, too much heavy debris blocked their path.

"Okay fine. Well, the stairs are definitely out. You think we can carry Gibbs, lift him up, and pull him out that window," McGee asked.

"I don't see any other way," Tony said tiredly with a shrug.

"Uh guys," Palmer interrupted. "With Agent Gibbs' broken ribs, that's a _really_ bad idea. I don't want to risk puncturing a lung. Dammit Tim, we should have brought a backboard!"

Tony snapped his fingers as a light bulb seemed to come on over his head. He stood and grabbed McGee by the shoulders.

"Plywood, McGee! There's a bunch in the corner over there. We can make a stretcher, but we gotta work fast. Come on, we need to find rope or duct tape or something."

McGee looked at Tony then at the window. Plywood came in nomina foot sheets; too wide to get through a barely three-foot wide window. McGee shouldered past Tony and found various lengths and widths of wood leaning against the wall beside the workbench. Looking up at the peg board, he saw a large coil of white maritime rope hanging on a hook. He grabbed it and threw it to Tony.

He filed through the supply of plywood until he found a piece that might serve their purpose. His eyeball estimate was a piece of pine measuring six-feet long and two-feet wide. Being only one-half inch thick, it was perfect! He dragged it out and carried it over to where Gibbs, now shirtless, sat getting his ribs tightly wrapped.

McGee's jaw dropped seeing the dark purple hue of Gibbs' bare chest. His eyes then fell to his heavily bandaged arm and splinted leg. "Boss! You okay? I'm so sorry about, you know …." He shrugged waving a hand at nothing in particular.

Gibbs winced as Palmer pulled the Ace bandage impossibly tight. His voice hitched as he replied, "Yeah, I know, McGee. Now, you got a plan for getting us out of here?"

"Uh, I think so," McGee said with a nod. He told Gibbs of their hastily devised plan to make a stretcher and carry him out. McGee saw Gibbs' jaw twitch and knew that the rugged Marine hated the idea of playing the role of damsel in distress. He could tell that Gibbs wanted to protest that he would walk out under his own power, but faced with the reality of the situation, the strongest, toughest, bravest man McGee had ever met in his entire life relented and put his life and trust in his hands. McGee felt profoundly honored.

Tim jumped when a grinning Tony hobbled up to him with a fistful of lengths of rope he had cut from the large coil. In his so familiar 'DiNozzo' way of finding humor in damn near any situation, Tony didn't disappoint.

"Hey, Boss, looks like I get to tie you up," Tony announced with his voice pitched low, throwing in waggling eyebrows for effect. It worked. McGee and Palmer blushed and looked away, while Gibbs snorted, grinned, and shook his head.

"Hey, McGee, toss me that t-shirt," Gibbs requested, pointing at the dwindling pile nearby, while Palmer worked on examining and rewrapping his wounded leg. After thoroughly palpating the bone and surrounding muscle, Palmer decided that any fracture was likely minor, and since Gibbs would not be attempting to walk he declared the bulky split unnecessary.

"This one," McGee asked, holding up a black Brooks & Dunn t-shirt.

"Yeah, thanks," Gibbs replied without making eye contact with Tony, who McGee noticed was looking down at Gibbs curiously. Snatching it out of McGee's hand, he ordered, "DiNozzo, a little help here!"

"Right, Boss. Sorry, Boss," Tony replied automatically before scampering as fast as his leg would allow.

McGee watched as Tony, with an abundance of care, helped dress their boss, pulling the shirt down over the thick cloth bandages. If any looks of longing and affection passed between Tony and Gibbs in the process, nothing was said, but at one point Palmer politely excused himself. McGee wondered if Tony whispering a bit too loud that he would have been happy to cut Gibbs' shirt off for him might have had something to do with it.

The intimacy on display earlier was apparently back as Tony leaned in and locked eyes with Gibbs. Though barely above a whisper, McGee thought he heard Tony mutter, "By the way, you still owe me the story behind this shirt." Whatever Tony said, Gibbs rolled his eyes in response.

The oddly tender moment was broken when the house shifted and dust rained down.

"Shit! We better get moving," McGee exclaimed, before once again taking charge. "Tony, can you and Palmer get Gibbs ready? I gotta check in with Vance and get the helicopter back here."

"We got this, Tim," Palmer assured as he placed the board down on the floor over the pre-cut lengths of rope Tony had laid out. "By the way, great job with these bandages, Tony."

McGee made his way back over to the window and pulled out the satellite phone Vance had given him. It was tied into MTAC and would be much more reliable than cell service. He dialed the MTAC extension and waited. Leaning against the wall, he watched and listened as Palmer and Tony worked together, rolling up several old towels to make Gibbs more comfortable as they secured him to the board.

"Uh, Agent Gibbs? Would you like me to give you something for the pain," Palmer asked as he placed a neatly folded towel under Gibbs' head.

When it looked like Gibbs was about to protest, Tony chimed in and said, "Je - Gibbs, take the damn meds! It's gonna hurt like hell when we shove you through the window." McGee observed the two stubborn men locked in a stare down and he wondered who would blink first.

"Give it to him, Palmer," Tony grumbled as he pulled the rope securing Gibbs' thighs tighter than was probably necessary.

"Dammit, DiNozzo!"

"Oops! Sorry, Boss," Tony mumbled semi-apologetically, smirking when he saw Gibbs' almost imperceptible nod to Palmer out of the corner of his eye.

McGee was so transfixed by the odd scene playing out between Tony, Gibbs, and Palmer that he jumped when an MTAC tech finally answered. "This is Agent McGee. Put me through to the Director," McGee ordered. He paced nervously for several moments before Vance got on the line. "Director, Sir, we're on our way out of the house. We need the helo back here ASAP. Gibbs is awake and alert, but there is no way he can walk, and from what I saw when we got here, there's no way an ambulance can make it down these streets. Yes, Sir. Lt. Col. Walker said they would stand by for your call. We will, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Shoving the sat phone back in his pack, McGee joined the others and packed up their gear.

"We've probably got thirty minutes, max. Vance is going to call back with confirmation. Tony, we're gonna have to carry Gibbs two blocks down to the school. It's the closest place a helo can land. If you can carry the packs, Palmer and I can carry Gibbs."

Tony climbed out first, but not before McGee saw him turn back and take a last, sad parting look at the basement that had been almost a second home to him. After handing their gear up to Tony, McGee joined Palmer.

"Okay, we'll go feet first. I'm gonna raise up my end so I can get under it and get leverage, then we should be able to lift Gibbs high enough to reach the window ledge."

McGee expected Gibbs to be much heavier, and was surprised by how easily he and Palmer were able to lift and move him. Keeping their movements as deliberate and smooth as possible to avoid jarring Gibbs too much, they reached the moment of truth – would they be able to get him through the window? McGee again took charge.

"DiNozzo! Will you be able to grab the board and help pull Gibbs through? We'll push," McGee shouted, not sure exactly how far Tony had gone from the window after climbing out.

"Jesus, I'm right here, McShouty! Yeah, just raise it up as high as you can and I'll pull from this end. Just get him up here, will you?" Tony demanded.

* * *

><p>Gibbs gripped the edges of the plywood to help keep still and closed his eyes. Whatever Palmer had injected him with was starting to kick in. The sensation of floating took over, and Gibbs was taken back to his earlier dream of him and Tony sailing. It crowded out the despair that had threatened to flood in at the thought of what he was leaving behind as he was carried to safety. He feared that the memories, both good and bad, would crumble to dust like the house itself. The idea of losing them brought an ache to his heart and tears to his eyes.<p>

The feel of long, wet blades of grass tickling his arm brought Gibbs around as he was gently lowered to the ground. He sighed when his eyes opened to a clear, pitch black sky and billions of stars twinkling above him. He heard nothing but the team's heavy breathing mixed with a chorus of chainsaws coming from every direction.

As he lay in his storm-ravaged back yard, Gibbs could barely make out how much of his house was still standing. He wanted and needed to know the extent of the damage, but a strong, warm hand atop his got his attention. Turning his head, he saw Tony kneeling by his side, smiling sadly with tears pooling in his eyes.

"We made it, Jethro," Tony said softly as his tears fell and landed on their now joined hands.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed by Tony's display of emotion, Gibbs simply nodded and squeezed his hand. It wasn't the most romantic setting in the world, but even in the light of a battery-powered flashlight instead of candles Tony's toothy smile and shining eyes spoke volumes.

Gibbs was reminded that they weren't alone a few minutes later when Palmer approached and cleared his throat. Tony went to pull his hand away, but Gibbs responded by squeezing it tighter.

"Gibbs," Tony asked nervously.

"It's okay, Tony. Don't worry," Palmer whispered conspiratorially, grinning at the pair. "I mean if you and, Agent Gibbs, you know …."

Much to Gibbs' relief, and probably Tony's as well, before Palmer could expound on his thoughts, the satellite phone chirped to life. McGee quickly dug it out of his backpack and flipped up the antennae.

"This is Agent McGee. Yes, Sir. We have two wounded, one on a backboard, one ambulatory. I don't know, Colonel. We'll sure as hell try our best. Roger that, Sir. We're leaving now."

Shoving the sat phone back in his bag, McGee barked, "Okay. Tony, just carry what you can. C'mon Palmer. The helo is five minutes out. They have two other casualties onboard, so we gotta move - NOW!"

Gibbs felt a surge of pride seeing McGee take charge and showcase his ability to lead under such extreme circumstances. He could have played the "Boss" card and started barking orders at any time, but his gut told him to give McGee the chance to prove himself. It was paying off in spades.

The darkness of the back yard was replaced by blinding light in the front yard. A team of emergency workers was in the process of setting up stands of generator-powered halogen lights at regular intervals up and down the street. Not needing to rely solely on the small but intense beams from their flashlights, they were able to move much faster with dozens of bright lights illuminating their way.

Gibbs laid back and hung on for the two block ride, with Tony at his side. Gibbs smiled.

The sound of the approaching helicopter got louder with each step. Less than a block away from the school, Gibbs lifted his head and watched as two people in military gear ran toward them.

Squinting, Gibbs read the names 'Walker' and 'Myers' on the front of their flight suits. The one named 'Walker' patted McGee on the back.

"Agent McGee, glad to see you got everyone out. Thought you might need a hand. You carry your gear and we'll take over from here," Walker said as he took McGee's place and the co-pilot took Palmer's.

"Special Agent Gibbs, I'm Lt. Col. Walker, USMC. This is Lt. Myers, one of my best pilots. Heard you need some help, Gunny. Always happy to help out a fellow Marine. Now, how about we give you a lift to Bethesda?"

Gibbs snorted then looked to his right and watched as McGee and Palmer relieved Tony of their backpacks. He smiled when, without any debate or discussion, they each got under an arm to support Tony and take as much weight off of his injured leg as possible.

"We got 'ya, Tony. Come on, let's get the hell out of here," McGee said tiredly.

* * *

><p><strong>Once again, Thank you!<strong>

**Happy Thanksgiving to all our American readers and to the rest of you...well, have a safe and happy week!**


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks so much to everyone for your reviews and for getting the word out about this story! We are humbled by your support. Should probably throw the usual disclaimer in here: We don't own any recognizable characters or places; we are making no money from this; and no copyright infringement is intended!

On with the story ...

* * *

><p>No longer alone and unable to communicate verbally due to the roar of the powerful engines, Gibbs settled for communicating with his eyes. He tried to ignore Tony's stare, but after a particularly jarring pocket of turbulence he could not ignore the look of concern. Along with the concern, Gibbs found questions and fear swirling in Tony's eyes. Gibbs tried to answer the questions and allay the fear by staring back.<p>

Tony looked on the verge of exhaustion. His normally bright and clear expressive eyes were glazed. Maybe it was the lighting inside of the olive drab helicopter, but Tony's complexion had taken on a grayish pallor. Gibbs knew that asking Tony if he was all right would get an automatic, "I'm fine," so he didn't bother. It would be a lie. It didn't help that they couldn't have any kind of meaningful conversation with the roar of the powerful engines, not to mention McGee yelling into a headset giving Vance, and likely Abby and Ducky, and update on rescue and his condition. If nothing else, Gibbs would put McGee and Palmer in charge of making sure Tony got medical treatment.

Feeling the blood pressure cuff tighten around his right arm, Gibbs turned his head and watched as Palmer placed the stethoscope on the bend in this arm and watched the gauge intently as he dialed back the pressure. Palmer, unassuming as always, checked his pulse and placed a thermometer under his tongue, which seemed odd, all things considered. Gone was the stammering, stumbling young med student who shrank away from him on most occasions. There was no hesitation, no asking for permission, just Palmer channeling Ducky's business-like demeanor, thankfully without a long, rambling narrative, tending to him like an experienced medic.

Shifting his attention to McGee on the jump-seat behind the co-pilot, Gibbs wondered how he had ended up in the role as leader on such a dangerous rescue mission. He felt a momentary tinge of shame thinking that Ziva would have been more suited for the job, but leave it to McGee to once again prove him wrong. If Tony was Gibbs' loyal St. Bernard, McGee was a little Beagle puppy vying for attention and praise, and always eager to please his master.

McGee handed off the headset to Palmer and exchanged places, shouting something about patching him into the ER at the hospital. Gibbs turned his attention back to Tony while Palmer reported his vitals to the hospital as they prepared to land.

Nothing changed when the helicopter set down in the designated landing zone that had been cleared of cars and cordoned off in the parking lot of Bethesda. Being much larger than the Life Flight chopper that provided service to the hospital, the pilots didn't even attempt to land on the helo pad located on the roof.

Quickly but carefully transferred and strapped down to a proper gurney, Gibbs was rushed into the Trauma Center by two Navy Corpsmen. Tony, with Palmer's support, hobbled along next to him as fast as he could, keeping one hand on the side rail and the other clamped on Gibbs' uninjured forearm.

"Palmer, get someone to look at Tony's leg," Gibbs ordered.

Everything was a blur of florescent lights as Gibbs was quickly wheeled down the hall before suddenly being turned and steered into an available exam area. He felt the loss of warmth on his arm as Tony was ordered to wait outside. Gibbs could hear Tony's protests, but the medical staff cited policy and told him that someone would be out to talk to him as soon as they had something to report.

Even with the flurry of activity as doctors and nurses scurried to triage patients flooding in, Gibbs could hear that McGee and Palmer were trying unsuccessfully to get Tony to let a nurse look at his leg. He may as well have been in the bullpen during a team sibling-like squabble instead of surrounded by medical equipment. Unable to mete out a head slap to get Tony back in line, he got in "Boss" mode from behind the curtain.

"DiNozzo! Stop being a God damned mother hen and sit your ass down somewhere before you fall down! I'm not dying," Gibbs grumbled as he slowly tried to sit up.

A trauma nurse, with a name badge that read "Eleanor", momentarily halted her attempt to force him to lie back down when she caught the business end of a warning glare. She pursed her lips and glared right back. Her flame red hair was pulled up in a severe bun, and she packed the characteristic short temper that Gibbs knew from experience redheads possessed.

"Don't even try that with me," she retorted with her hands planted firmly on her ample hips. "I've been dealing with tough guys like you for over twenty years, so let me tell you something. In this room, I'M the boss! Now, are you gonna behave and cooperate, or do we do this the hard way?"

Initially taken aback by her less than charming bedside manner, Gibbs had to hand it to her - Nurse Eleanor meant business. Her tone and perturbed look made it clear that she was truly in charge. Too tired and in too much pain to effectively challenge her, Gibbs settled back against the pillows.

"That's more like it," Eleanor said, favoring him with a warm smile. "Now, let's get you into a gown, Mr. Gibbs."

"Just Gibbs," Gibbs croaked out.

_"She talks almost as much as DiNozzo,"_ Gibbs thought as Eleanor kept him preoccupied while she carefully stripped him down to his boxer shorts and got him into a gown. After taking his vitals and noting them in his chart, she bagged up his boots and clothes, making sure that any valuables were removed from the pockets.

"Who should I give these to?" Eleanor asked, brandishing Gibbs' wallet, field knife, watch and cell phone.

"Tony, uh, Agent DiNozzo. He's right outside," Gibbs replied.

Eleanor handed the items to the orderly assisting her. "You heard the man," she barked, before turning her attention back to Gibbs. "I can tell by the haircut you're a Marine, so I'm sure you won't mind me sticking you with a little bitty needle," she challenged teasingly.

Before Gibbs could respond, he felt a cold swab on the back of his right hand followed by a sharp stick. He didn't even have time to flinch before the needle port and tubing attached to it were taped down and Eleanor was adjusting the drip of his IV.

She whistled at the deep purple bruising after cutting away the Ace bandages tightly binding his rib cage. Once heart monitor leads were stuck to Gibbs' chest, Eleanor set to work tending to his more minor cuts and scrapes, beginning with the slight gash at his temple.

"Now, let's see what we've got here," she said with a smile as she began carefully unwrapping Gibbs' bandages. His left arm was blood-covered mess, but after gently washing away the dried blood with saline solution she could see that the underlying series of cuts, weren't dangerously deep. The profuse bleeding had kept the wounds clean, so after flushing them thoroughly with additional saline she covered the cuts with fresh gauze.

Suddenly, with a flourish, the curtain was thrown back and a young, dark-haired doctor appeared. Gibbs thought he looked young enough to be a first year med student. Eleanor must have sensed his apprehension, because she chuckled before introducing the doctor.

"Ah, here he is. Gibbs, this is Doctor Miller. He'll be your attending. Don't you worry. He may be young, but you're in good hands."

Gibbs lay back while the ridiculously young doctor and Eleanor went over his chart and discussed her initial assessment of his condition. He wondered who had provided the intake information, but suspected it was likely a group effort. His health care power of attorney was part of his permanent medical record, along with his insurance information and next-of-kin. Gibbs had named Ducky as his primary attorney-in-fact with Tony as the alternate, but he couldn't remember if he ever mentioned it to Tony.

Several minutes passed as the good doctor poked and prodded him, paying extra attention to Gibbs' leg, while Eleanor jotted down notes and orders for meds and procedures. Gibbs tuned out the medical speak and let his thoughts turn to Tony.

Barely two hours had passed since he woke up wrapped in the warmth and security of Tony's arms. The more he relaxed, the more Tony's words played over in his mind. Had it been any other Friday night, Gibbs seriously doubted that Tony would have confessed having feelings for him. He couldn't help but wonder if Tony really meant what he said, or if it was just a cliché response to the stress of the situation they were in. Gibbs hated the idea that it was just Tony's version of the "you're gonna be fine" battlefield speech given to gravely wounded soldiers.

Tony's words, "I don't want to lose this," struck a chord. Conversations over cowboy-style steaks, movies watched over Chinese take-out or pizza, splitting a six-pack and watching ball games on TV, and just spending time with Tony with no pre-planned agenda meant more to Gibbs than he would normally admit. Tony canceling on him made him realize just how much he feared losing what they did have, whatever that actually was. Trust, friendship, respect, and affection were there in abundance and had been for nearly a decade. When Gibbs' feelings began to transcend those into the realm of something deeper, something more profound, he couldn't say, nor could he define it other than to admit that it felt right on every level.

"Whoever dressed your wounds did a hell of a job, Agent Gibbs," Doctor Miller announced, breaking Gibbs from his thoughts. "I'm going to have Eleanor finish cleaning you up and put a few stitches in your arm, then we'll get some x-rays. I understand you lost consciousness earlier and had some nausea, so we should get you upstairs for a CT scan rule out anything more serious than a concussion. I'll go get that set up." He patted Gibbs' arm, flashed a confident smile, then left the room.

Gibbs watched as Eleanor cleaned, bandaged and splinted his left wrist with a black, velcro fastened brace. There was plenty of bruising, swelling and pain, but he had full range of motion and feeling and dexterity in all of his fingers, so a fracture was ruled out.

Hissing involuntarily as Eleanor manipulated his injured lower leg to get a better look at the wound and to test the soundness of the bone, Gibbs slammed his eyes shut. He had been shot and stabbed often enough, but nothing compared to the pain he felt now. The earlier throbbing was back with a vengeance and it felt like a red-hot poker had been inserted right into the bone.

"I'm sorry about that, Hon. How about a little morphine, just to take the edge off the pain? No need to be a big tough Marine with me. You tell me if the pain gets to be too much, you hear me?" Eleanor said, smiling when she received an affirmative nod.

Just as Eleanor was finishing up cleaning and inspecting the large jagged gash in his leg, Gibbs heard Doctor Miller's voice and his eyes fell on the portable x-ray being wheeled in behind him. Films were taken of his chest and leg to determine the severity of the damage.

"Okay. We're all set upstairs. Shouldn't take more than an hour. Your wrist is only sprained, but I want to go over the x-rays of your leg with an orthopedic specialist before stitching you up. Then we'll get you admitted so you can rest," Doctor Miller said.

Tired. He was so tired. Gibbs fought against the pull of sleep. It was obvious that his injuries were not life threatening, but even as banged up as he was, Gibbs couldn't - wouldn't - rest until he knew that Tony was okay. The mix of exhaustion and the morphine Eleanor had injected into his IV were working against him. As a team came in and prepared to move Gibbs upstairs, he grabbed Eleanor's hand as tightly as he could.

"DiNoz - Tony - he's hurt. Can you look at him - please," Gibbs slurred as his eyes fluttered shut.

He didn't feel the return squeeze of his hand or Eleanor's softly spoken, "Don't you worry. I'll take good care of him."

* * *

><p>Gibbs didn't need to be reminded where he was when he was roused from his drug-induced sleep. He recognized Eleanor, who stood at his bedside looking rather fondly down on him.<p>

"There's those pretty blue eyes," she said. "Gibbs, this is Eric, your night nurse. He's going to be taking care of you. You think you can answer a couple of questions for me?"

Gibbs nodded. Those familiar words meant concussion check. Lord knows he'd been on the asking side of this song and dance with DiNozzo enough times to know the drill.

"We'll start with an easy one. What's your name?"

"Gibbs."

"Where do you work?"

"NCIS."

"Who is the President?"

"President Obama. Did you look at Tony? How is he? Where is he?"

Eleanor smiled while Eric stood by looking perplexed. She pointed to the sleeping form in the other bed.

"Your Agent DiNozzo over there. He's a stubborn one! Passed out before I got a chance to look at him. He lost quite a bit of blood, but we got two units in him. Doctor Miller's team stitched him up, and he's gonna be just fine. He sure raised hell when he came around until I promised to let him see you. Figured I'd save us all the trouble and just asked them to put him in here with you," she said with a laugh.

"Thanks," Gibbs replied with a contented sigh, his eyes never leaving the sleeping form snoring softly less than ten feet away.

Eleanor and Eric made short work of checking Gibbs' vitals while he was awake. Satisfied that Gibbs hadn't developed a fever, Eric chimed in and asked for his pain level.

"Hmmm...about a five. Not bad," Gibbs replied.

"I'm sure you're familiar with this," Eric asked, holding up the red-buttoned controller to the self-dispensing morphine machine. "Use it if you need it, and here's the call button if you need anything else. I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on you again."

Gibbs nodded absently in reply while he watched Eleanor check to make sure that Tony was resting comfortably.

"You take care, Gibbs, and take care of that one, too," Eleanor said with a wink as she followed Eric out the door.

* * *

><p>Tony let the pulsing vibration of the helicopter dull and eventually numb his overtaxed senses. Eyes glued to Gibbs where he lay strapped down, he caught each well-concealed wince of pain as they banked and bounced through air pockets along their flight path. It wasn't long before Gibbs caught him staring, locked eyes with him in the tight and crowded space of the cabin and gave a feeble half-smile that was more worrisome than reassuring to Tony. He wanted to touch, to feel the warmth of rough skin and a fluttering pulse beat beneath his fingers again. Instead, he had to be content with the fact that Gibbs' gaze fixed to him and didn't let go, didn't flinch in avoidance the way Tony'd half expected now that it was more than just the two of them.<p>

Finally, after a seeming eternity that really wasn't more than 20 minutes, they were being waved in for landing at Bethesda. GW was closer to the scene but the first rate hospital had taken the main flood of trauma cases and was now completely overwhelmed. Several other medical facilities in the area were running on generator power only and closed to trauma. Due to the nature of the emergency, they had been given clearance to drop all of their cargo at the military hospital which was opening its doors to absorb some of the civilian casualties despite typical protocols.

Their pilot was a pro and their touchdown feather-light. It was only the subtle change in vibration and the tone of the rotors which told Tony they were well and truly on the ground. Almost immediately, the doors were thrown open, and the helo was surrounded by medical personnel. Walker and his crew still had more runs to make so Gibbs was quickly and efficiently transferred onto a rolling gurney and the other victims unloaded before they were hustled as a group into the bright lights of the landing field.

Gripping tight to the rail of the rolling bed, Tony refused assistance and limped the seemingly endless distance through the night air toward the towering institution with McGee and Palmer trailing close behind.

"Tony, they've got him. You need to let someone look at your leg now," McGee urged as soon as they were inside the sliding glass doors.

"Later," Tony waved him off, unable to focus on anything but Gibbs. He refused to allow himself to be separated from the other man now and continued to hobble his way down the corridor until it opened up into a triage area where Gibbs was wheeled into a curtained off cubicle.

"I'm sorry. Everyone will have to wait here until we finish assessing his injuries. Is there anyone else in the party in need of medical attention?" A young orderly halted Tony, McGee, and Palmer as a curtain was pulled definitively closed around Gibbs.

"Yes. He's…" Palmer gestured toward Tony.

"Fine," Tony interrupted with a glare. "I'm fine Palmer. I'll wait."

The orderly looked between the three men, trying to determine who to take his marching orders from. "There's a small waiting area just down the hall to your left. Someone will come and get you as soon as we can get him evaluated."

"I'm not leaving him. Not now." Tony wanted desperately to sit somewhere, but he was determined. He looked imploringly from McGee to Palmer, silently begging them to understand, to help him.

"He'll be fine, Tony. I'm sure they'll come and get us right away if there's anything more serious going on," McGee said gently, reaching a hand out to the other man whose muscles bunched beneath his light touch.

Tim's hand resting on his shoulder made Tony twitch and he realized just how keyed up he still was. "You don't know what I went through to get to him, McGee. You don't know what it was like."

"You're right, I don't. But I know that you got through, Tony. I know that you probably saved his life tonight. And he knows it too. There's nothing more you can do for him right now except take care of yourself," Tim urged beseechingly.

"DiNozzo! Stop being a God damned mother hen and sit your ass down somewhere before you fall down," Gibbs' disembodied voice barked from behind the curtain. "I'm not dying."

A sheepish grin spread across Tony's face for a moment before it hardened again. "I'll be right here, like 10 feet away, Gibbs. Don't let them take you away before I…before I get a chance to see you, okay?" He looked at Palmer and McGee from beneath long lashes and willed the heat from his cheeks.

"Sit." Gibbs' voice came to him again but it seemed to have lost a bit of its edge.

"Going, Boss," Tony agreed grudgingly, allowing Palmer to lead him to a small enclosure with a couple of vinyl couches. There was also a glass covered end table, a lamp which served to somewhat soften the harsh glare from the overhead fluorescents, and a phone which was obviously for the use of visitors.

"I'm going to go check in with Vance and let Abby and Ducky know you guys are safe. Director told them they had to stay put and I'm sure they're both climbing the walls by now."

McGee headed back into the main corridor and looked right and left, clearly checking for a good place to make his call that was a bit quieter than their present location where traffic bustled by in a continuous stream.

"And I'm going to see if I can slip into a supply closet and get some gauze and a suture kit so I can take a look at your leg. I may not have Dr. Mallard's connections but I can blend in like nobody's business." Palmer grinned before looking sternly at Tony. "You're staying put, right?"

"As long as Gibbs is here, I'm here," Tony affirmed with a tight nod. He lifted his leg up onto the table, wincing at the tight pain in his calf at the movement. "See if you can find me some Advil while you're at it will ya? And maybe some water?" His head was beginning to pound in rhythm with his pulse and his mouth felt dry as a bone.

"I'll do what I can," Palmer promised.

Once McGee and Palmer were gone, Tony relaxed back onto the couch. Now that the adrenaline rush of the last few hours was truly wearing off, he was beginning to realize there wasn't a single part of him that wasn't sore. Overtaxed muscles in his neck, arms, and shoulders had taken on that dull, burning, rubbery sensation that told him he was barely going to be able to move in the morning. His thighs were already screaming in protest at the workout he had put himself through and the pain eating away at his lower leg was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony didn't realize he'd allowed his eyes to drift closed until a hesitant voice said his name. Opening them, he forced himself upright and found the orderly who had blocked him from going with Gibbs a few minutes ago. "Yeah?" He blinked at the suddenly bright-seeming lights.

"Agent Gibbs asked that you hold these for him." He hastily produced Jethro's worn leather wallet and field knife along with his watch and cell.

Reaching for the proffered items hesitantly, Tony clutched them in his hand and tucked them into his lap. "Is he okay? What's going on?" He wanted to bolt up and run to Gibbs' side but he honestly wasn't sure he had the energy at present. His arms suddenly felt like lead and the pounding in his head was throwing him into a mental tailspin.

"He's fine. I don't know much. Just that they're doing some portable x-rays of his wrist and ankle and getting some films of his chest to check his ribs. I think they're waiting for the machine to become available so they can do a CAT scan and get a better look at what is going on with his head injury." The young man looked like he had already said too much.

_Head injury._ Tony didn't like the sound of those words, especially when it came to Gibbs. The last thing either of them needed right now was a damn trip to Mexico.

"Thanks. If anything changes, anything at all, you'll make sure they come and get me?" Tony lifted a shaking hand to his forehead. Where was Palmer with that water?

"Are you sure I can't get someone for you? You don't look so good." The concern in the orderly's voice was genuine.

"It's been a long night." Tony dismissed him and tried to pull himself together a little. "Just have a headache. Friend went to get me some Advil." He pasted on his best disarming smile but could see the young man in front of him wasn't completely convinced. "Listen, just keep me in the loop. If I pass out, I promise to come and get you."

Undeterred but clearly used to dealing with stubborn patients, the orderly continued. "Have it your way, Agent DiNozzo. I can't force you to get medical treatment. But my name is Michael and if you could try to remember to yell it before you actually pass out? And maybe lean backwards? That would be helpful. I really hate having to clean teeth and blood off this table. It stains." He turned and walked away.

Tony's eyes dropped immediately to Gibbs' possessions which lay cradled in his lap. The knife was familiar. Gibbs had gotten him a similar-if not identical-one for his birthday many years ago. No gift wrap, no card, just the knife stuck point-first into the Formica of his desktop. From anyone else it might be considered a veiled threat, but he knew even then that even this tiny bit of acknowledgement was indeed the highest form of respect as far as Gibbs was concerned.

His fingers lingered on the cold steel for a moment, noticing how the weight of it felt reassuring. Eventually his attentions turned to the soft, worn, leather of Gibbs' wallet, the frayed but still-sound stitching along its border, the imprinted outline of its, no doubt, well-ordered contents.

He shouldn't. Tony knew he shouldn't. But the pull was too intense, the curiosity nearly overpowering despite the fact that his eyes really wanted to close and the throbbing at his temples made the world around him pulse in time with his heart.

Taking a glance around for McGee and Palmer and regretting the quick movement when it took a minute for the room to stop spinning, Tony drew in a deep breath and slipped trembling fingers gently into the seam of the wallet in his hand. Things inside were much as he'd expected. There were no stacks of discount cards, no video memberships, nothing unnecessary or frivolously sentimental. Driver's license, NCIS ID card, a modest amount of cash, a single credit card, and Gibbs' veteran's ID, all perfectly lined up, all perfectly in place. Tony smiled and fingered Gibbs' license, running his fingers over Jethro's name and birth date, the hard-faced picture in the lower corner. There was something about spying on the mundane details of the other man's life that made him feel closer to Gibbs, made Jethro seem more human to him.

Tony was about to close the wallet and tuck it away in his own pocket when he noticed a second fold behind the one which held five crisp twenty dollar bills. Dipping his fingers into it, he came out with a slightly larger than wallet-sized photo of Gibbs cradling a small infant in his arms while standing next to the bed of an exhausted looking, yet radiantly beautiful woman who was smiling up at him lovingly. Tony knew what he was looking at and the image blurred before he could swallow the lump that had formed in his dry throat. The edges of the picture were care-worn and the color faded, but the look of pure happiness, of unfiltered adoration on Gibbs' face was so powerful, so distinctly un-Gibbslike, that it set up an ache in his chest which had nothing to do with sore and over-used muscles.

Sniffing back the surge of emotion and blinking away the moisture from his lashes, Tony hastily tucked the picture back into its hiding place, but not before he noticed another photo. Assuming this one was yet another reminder of the wife and daughter Gibbs had lost, Tony's breath caught when, instead of what he'd expected, he came face to face with a photo of himself.

He squinted at the picture, having a hard time focusing on it for some reason. Tony thought he recognized the occasion, though he couldn't ever remember this photo being taken, couldn't even remember Gibbs being there, in fact. The team had been invited to Vance's home for a barbeque and pool party one 4th of July a few years back. Tony remembered it mostly because of the extremely tiny skull-covered bikini Abby had unveiled and the horrendous sunburn McGee had been sporting for almost a week afterward. Gibbs' presence was a blur, thought certainly he must have been there.

Tony had to admit the photo was one of the more flattering ones he'd seen of himself recently. Hs hair was wet and tousled, his damp skin kissed by the heat of the sun and shimmering with drops of water. He wasn't looking at the camera, was smiling widely at someone off to his left who remained out of the shot, but the photographer had captured him in an unguarded moment of happiness, and the open grin was genuine rather than the one he sometimes used as a mask. Tony was also largely unclothed, bared to the waist and clad only in damp and clinging swim trunks that accentuated his well-muscled thighs.

He was damn proud of those thighs.

The thought of Gibbs keeping this photo, however, of him drawing it out and looking at it, as he must do with the one of his wife and daughter, dumbfounded him at the same time it brought a rush of heat to his cheeks.

"What's that?"

McGee's voice startled Tony and the picture dropped from between his fingers to land on the linoleum and coast just out of his reach beneath the table. "It's nothing. Just an old picture." He leaned forward, noticing that Palmer had returned as well. Unfortunately, Tony was impeded by his propped up leg and Tim got to the photo first.

"Oh hey, I remember that," Palmer chimed in over McGee's shoulder. "That's where you forgot your sunscreen and Abby had that bathing suit that almost showed her…"

"We remember." Tony and McGee said in unison, effectively stopping Jimmy from elaborating further.

"Right." Palmer pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Where'd the picture come from?"

"Nowhere. Give it back, McGee," Tony said sternly.

"Is that Gibbs' knife?" Tim's eyes had strayed to Tony's lap and its contents. "And his wallet?"

"He asked me to hold them, now just give it back before I take it back." It was an empty threat as he didn't have the strength to get up off the couch let alone wrestle McGee over a stupid photograph if the other man chose to be stubborn.

Tim shrugged. "It's a good picture of you, I guess." He passed the photo back and his eyes widened as Tony tucked it hastily into Gibbs' wallet. "Tony, why does Gibbs…I mean, why would he..?" The sentence trailed off but the question remained.

"Let it go, McGee," Tony said flatly, locking eyes with the younger man until Tim nodded his understanding that this wasn't something they were going to talk about right now.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, guys, but I found what I needed and I think I should probably take a look at Tony's leg. Your color doesn't look so good, Tony."

Palmer pushed past Tim without waiting for a response and took a seat on the couch perpendicular to the one Tony was resting on.

"My color is fine," Tony protested. "You find me some water? Or some Advil?" He scrubbed a hand over his eyes again, doing his best to keep it steady and failing miserably.

"Agent McGee, do you mind?" Palmer motioned Tim to move so that he somewhat blocked the view from the corridor. "I don't think I'm actually supposed to be doing this."

McGee shifted obligingly as Jimmy began unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages from around Tony's leg. He had donned gloves and had a number of thick pieces of gauze at the ready. "This is probably gonna hurt a bit," Palmer warned as he reached the last layer of padding. "And you might want to look away. I don't suspect it's very pretty."

Tony set his jaw and pressed his lips together hard, trying his best not to flinch and squirm as his discomfort grew exponentially. He felt air against his skin and a stinging burn through his whole calf as the pressure was released. He also felt a distinct queasiness in the pit of his stomach.

"Uh, Agent McGee? I think maybe you had better go and get some help." Palmer's voice was slightly tremulous.

"Just patch it up, Palmer. I won't get mad about a scar." Tony just wanted the procedure over.

"This is a lot deeper than I thought, Tony, and it hasn't closed up well. You're still bleeding pretty badly."

Tony opened his eyes and looked down. He knew it was a mistake the moment he saw the crimson gush from the jagged gash that ran several inches along his calf. His world tilted as the lights around him seemed to dim down and the sounds fade away. "Don't feel so good, Jimmy." The words were clear in his head but sounded jumbled as they left his lips.

"Now, McGee!" Palmer's voice was insistent.

Tony felt pressure against his calf and a sharp stab of pain. The last thing he remembered before his world faded to black was the feeling of cool hands behind his neck and an unfamiliar yet very brusque female voice issuing orders.

* * *

><p>Tony heard noises around him. The world was dark but there was a sense of movement, of activity. The smells were wrong and unfamiliar, antiseptic and…<p>

"Gibbs!" Tony came fully awake with a bolt of panic, tried to sit up despite his grogginess and the weight which was suddenly pressing against his chest, pushing him back into the mattress.

"Calm down, Agent DiNozzo. Your Agent Gibbs is just fine," a soothing female voice said calmly but firmly from his right.

Tony tried to focus, to make his eyes adjust to the bright light that was suddenly everywhere. "Where's Gibbs? What happened to him?" He stopped struggling against the hands gently but forcibly holding him down, realizing he didn't have near the strength to fight free right now.

"He's just fine. In fact, we'll bring you to him in just a minute if you'll calm down and answer a few questions for me. Do you know where you are, Agent DiNozzo?" Now that he had stopped struggling she removed her hand from his sternum.

"Hospital," Tony croaked. "Bethesda," he quickly clarified, just in case he was being graded on this.

"Very good. And clearly you remember that your friend is here as well. I think I can safely say you're back with us. My name is Eleanor and I'm a nurse here. Been taking care of your friend Agent Gibbs as well until he sent me looking for you. I'd say it's a good thing he did," she said patiently.

Tony focused in on the details of his surroundings. He was definitely in a hospital bed and the pinching tightness in his right arm made him turn his head and see the twin tubes extending into the crease of his elbow. One carried clear fluid, the other bright red.

"You're giving me blood?" he asked.

"And fluids and antibiotics to fight off infection. I threw some pain killers in there for good measure too. You can thank me later." She came around the side of the bed and checked his IV and infusion lines. "That cut to your leg was deep, almost right to the bone. I've seen men bigger than you go down for less, though it appears it was your own stubborn insistence on walking on it that kept it bleeding. I've cleaned and dressed the wound and the Doc's sutured you up tight, but you're going to need to stay off of it for a few days to give it time to heal internally."

Seemingly satisfied that all was well, Eleanor made a few notes in her chart.

"I thought you said you would take me to Gibbs?" Tony asked impatiently. He felt fuzzy and assumed it was the effects of the pain killers. He had to admit, his leg and head did feel an awful lot better thought.

Eleanor clucked in exasperation. "What is it with the two of you and one track minds? Only thing he could talk about was how concerned he was for you."

Tony thought he saw the corner of her mouth curl in a smile as she made her notes but when she turned back to him it was all business.

"There are two pretty anxious visitors outside waiting for word on you. Mind if I give them the update while I call the orderly to bring you to your room?" Eleanor asked as she slipped the chart back into place.

"My room? I don't need a room. Listen, you can unhook me from all this stuff now. Really, I'm fine. I just want to see Gibbs." Tony pushed himself up into a sitting position and tried to focus on the place where the IV's ran into his arm. He had the sudden and unexplainable urge to flee.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and calmly picked up a phone.

"Listen, if you're calling for backup, don't bother. I'm a civilian. I can sign myself out against medical advice if I want to," Tony protested despite the fact that his head felt stuffed with cotton and he really wasn't sure where his pants had gotten to.

"I'm not calling for backup." Eleanor covered the receiver with her hand and spoke calmly to Tony. "I'm calling prosthetics so they can come down and get a good measurement for the leg you're gonna need when you get gangrene and we have to cut yours off." She stared him down flatly. "Hello, Ed? This is Eleanor down in ER. Got one for ya. Yeah, I'd say we'll be looking at everything below the knee," she said matter-of-factly into the phone.

Tony's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment but his fingers stopped picking at the tape holding his IV's in place. "Okay, I get it," he grumbled finally, returning sullenly to his supine position.

"I'm glad. I'd hate to explain to that big, tough Marine in your room upstairs that the man he's been so concerned about is missing a limb," Eleanor said gently. "Looks like a false alarm, Ed, but I'll keep an eye on this one." She smiled into the receiver before placing it back on the hook.

"Gibbs is in my room?" Confusion and hope merged inside his fuzzy head.

"He should be by the time we get there." Eleanor crossed her arms beneath ample breasts. "Unless you'd like me to find you different accommodations for the night?"

A short while later, Tony's bed was wheeled upstairs as he fidgeted with the edge of his hospital gown and counted the banks of lights that passed overhead. He'd begged not to be drugged up again until he'd had a chance to see Gibbs and the dull ache that had returned to his leg was now a deep throbbing pain that set his teeth on edge. Finally, his gurney slowed and he was being turned into a semi darkened room.

Tony's eyes immediately sought out the occupant of the second bed and he nearly choked on the surge of relief that flooded through him at the sight of Gibbs' silver head resting on a stark white pillow.

With Gibbs' head swaddled in bandages, Tony could still see the deep purple bruises that colored the side of his face, nearly swelling his eye shut. This was the first time he'd seen him in anything resembling full light and he winced in sympathy.

"Head wounds tend to do that." Eleanor's voice drifted to him softly from the doorway. "Blood just follows gravity and drains right down. It's not nearly as bad as it looks and he'll be a whole lot prettier in a day or two."

"Is he…" Tony was afraid to voice his question. The vision before him was eerily familiar and it scared him right down to his toes.

"He's fine, just sleeping off the meds right now," she reassured him quickly. "And more battered than broken. The concussion was serious and he's going to need someone to watch him pretty closely for the next week or so. We've bandaged his ribs and the fracture to his leg doesn't look like it's going to require surgery so that's good news as well. From what your friends tell me about how they found you, it sounds like things could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah," Tony said quietly, only half hearing her report past the reassurance that Gibbs was well and truly okay. "What's the heart monitor for?" He was suddenly alarmed by the realization that Gibbs had a lot more wires than he had.

"Just a precaution. He had a lot of trauma to his sternum and ribs and sometimes that can cause internal swelling which interferes with heart function. We haven't seen anything unusual but we'll keep monitoring him just to be on the safe side."

"Can you…can you keep the curtain open?" he asked hesitantly as Eleanor prepped the pain meds she would push into his IV.

"Of course. Somehow I think things will be a lot easier for all of us if I do." She smiled down at him. "Ready?"

Tony nodded, hating to be drugged up but reassured now that he was with Gibbs again. A few seconds later, he felt the heaviness flow into his limbs and pull at him. This time he didn't fight as the beat of Gibbs' heart through the monitor lulled him into a blissful state of unawareness.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Continued thanks for all of your feedback and support! It is truly humbling knowing that this story has touched so many people. We really are working hard to bring you our very best work! Much love, Kat and Probie

* * *

><p>At 0600, just as the sun barely began to peek through the half-turned slats of the heavy vertical blinds, Gibbs woke up feeling like he had been hit by a truck. Everything hurt. He attempted to open his eyes, but the left one refused to obey his command. Raising his splinted left hand to his face, he could feel the pronounced swelling around his eye. It was tender to the touch, and Gibbs figured it was probably a very familiar shade of dark purple.<p>

He felt surprising well-rested despite Eleanor and some male nurse, whose name Gibbs couldn't recall, popping in at some point during the night to conduct a concussion check, take his temperature, and hang a new IV. They kept the question and answer session brief, so he was able to fall back to sleep almost immediately after the examination.

Against his better judgment, but needing the relief it afforded, Gibbs pressed the button to release a dose of morphine into his vein. His wrist was sore, but the immobilizing brace kept the pain to a dull ache. His casted left leg was elevated by a stack of pillows to keep the swelling down, which also helped to keep the pain in check. The short cast barely reached mid-calf, just below where a long row of sutures began that ran up almost to the bend of his knee.

The concussion-induced headache and broken ribs - four to be exact, with a few more severely bruised, if he remembered correctly - were definitely the sources of his worst pain. Reclined back instead of lying flat helped alleviate the pressure on his tender rib cage, but getting and staying in a comfortable position was proving to be a challenge. Gibbs had to resist an overwhelming urge to stretch his tired, aching muscles, something he had done upon waking for as long as he could remember, knowing that doing so with his rib case nearly shattered would cause excruciating pain.

As the powerful narcotic began to take effect, Gibbs turned his head in the direction of a snort coming from the other occupant of his room. Tony! Somehow in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and whatever he had been injected with, Gibbs had forgotten that Tony was there. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to piece together everything that happened since they arrived at the hospital. Flashes of images and sounds, and bits of disjointed conversations tumbled around in his head as he tried to fit the pieces together until finally the picture came into focus. Eleanor had kept her promise to look after Tony.

Gibbs watched as the younger man absently scratched his nose before dropping his hand to his side. The IV line inserted into his arm did not go unnoticed, nor did the heavily bandaged leg resting elevated on top of the white blanket covering the rest of him.

"Ah hell, Tony," Gibbs whispered to himself, realizing that Tony had been injured far worse than he let on back in the basement. It was hard seeing him lying there so still, so pale, and so quiet. For someone as talkative and energetic as he typically was, it was a wholly unnatural state. Gibbs felt an immediate pang of guilt. Tony had several hospital stays under his belt, but those were all directly related to the dangerous nature of their jobs. This time it was different, and Gibbs felt personally responsible for Tony being there.

Soft snoring emanating from his roommate was the only tell-tale sign that Tony was in a deep, peaceful slumber. Hearing his name mumbled, Gibbs smiled. Except for Shannon, Gibbs had never felt such an instantaneous attraction to anyone, male or female, but the attraction wasn't purely physical. Along with respect and unwavering trust, there was great fondness and affection in play as well, almost from the very beginning. Gibbs found it sad that so many people, even some of those closest to him, refused to look past the carefree, shallow image Tony projected to see the deeper, more thoughtful, spiritual, caring man he was inside.

Gibbs sighed and thought about all that had transpired between them so unexpectedly. He had ignored the storm warnings and the churning in his gut, but he could no longer ignore the feeling that somehow there had been a profound shift in their relationship. In which direction they were headed, and to what end, was a puzzle with several pieces missing. All Gibbs knew was that just hours ago, in the damp darkness of a makeshift shelter, words had been exchanged that held as much mystery as they did promise.

Drowsy from the morphine, Gibbs closed his eyes but sleep did not come easily. His thoughts turned to his house and all that he had likely lost forever. The house would have to be torn down, but it could be rebuilt. Hell, he thought, it needed to be remodeled anyway. His furniture and other household appointments were a couple of decades out of date and would be easy to replace.

Gibbs felt his heart constrict knowing that there were things he could never replace; items of no value to anyone, but to him they were priceless and irreplaceable. The attic and bedroom that once belonged to Kelly held his most valuable treasures. Boxes containing Kelly's prized stuffed animal collection, keepsakes from his and Shannon's wedding, and countless hand-written love letters they had exchanged dating back to their first fateful meeting at the bus station in Stillwater. Thankfully, pictures drawn in crayon with a chubby little hand, school craft projects, and dozens of photographs that Shannon had taken of her and Kelly while he was overseas were locked away in a heavy fire-proof safe that he kept hidden beneath the basement stairs, or what now remained of them. Gibbs dozed off clinging to a glimmer of hope that something, some tiny memento of his girls, could be salvaged from the wreckage.

* * *

><p>Gibbs awoke with a start two hours later to find Tony staring at him from his bed. If the look of concern on Tony's face was any indication, Gibbs knew he looked as battered, bruised, and beaten as he felt. With warm summer sunlight now streaming in, Tony looked much better than he had in the frosted light from the fluorescent fixture on the wall above his head.<p>

They were alone again at last, but Gibbs didn't know what to say. He knew they couldn't avoid the elephant in the room indefinitely, but Gibbs wasn't sure if he was ready to revisit their earlier conversation under the stairs. He felt off-kilter as the enormity of last night's events began to sink in. There was a lot he needed to process, but being a solitary creature by nature, Gibbs was used to internalizing everything and dealing with his problems on his own.

Tony's eyes held questions, and Gibbs hoped that he would be able to provide at least some answers. He had plenty of questions of his own, but the words didn't come. Where Tony wore his heart on his sleeve, Gibbs kept his feelings and emotions safely bottled up. This was foreign territory for Gibbs. For the first time in a very long time, he wanted to talk and share his feelings, but the risk of saying the wrong thing was monumental. It was the fear of irreparably damaging what had become a cherished friendship that held him back. Gibbs settled for favoring Tony with a sleepy half smile.

Using the controls to raise the head of his bed so that he was in a more upright position, Tony dropped his gaze to his lap and picked at a loose string on the edge of the blanket. In a voice rough from sleep, Tony was the first to summon up the courage to speak.

"You okay, Gibbs?"

It was a simple question, but Gibbs pondered it before answering. Was he? His broken bones would mend, but then what? He didn't want to think about what came next; salvaging what he could of his shattered life and rebuilding the rest. "Yeah, fine."

Tony snorted. "Fine, my ass! They must have you on the good drugs, because you look like hell. What did the doctors say? They wouldn't tell me much."

"You think, DiNozzo? I did just have a house fall on me," Gibbs shot back more defensively than he intended. He felt bad as soon as the words were out and softened his tone. "Didn't mean to snap at you. Sprained wrist, broken leg, some busted ribs and a concussion. Nothing I haven't survived before. What about you? You okay?"

"Just the cut on my leg. Guess it was worse than I thought. Your friend Eleanor got to me after I passed out. I remember Probie and the Gremlin yelling for help and then when I came to, there she was, Nurse Ratched in the flesh. You know she threatened to have my leg cut off? Called some guy named Ed to have me fitted for a new one. Man, she scared the hell out of me! I get the distinct feeling she doesn't take much shit from anyone."

Gibbs tried not to laugh, but comparing Eleanor to Nurse Ratched was too much. Tony had convinced him to watch the cinematic masterpiece "One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest" with him after a case that had required numerous visits to the hospital's Psych Ward. After seeing the film, all of Tony's rambling movie references during the case made sense.

Holding his right arm around his ribs, Gibbs chuckled, "Yeah, she's something all right. Glad she got to you when she did. I was worried about you, Tony." Gibbs' tone had turned somber.

Tony's smile morphed into a frown. "Yeah, I know. I was really scared last night, Gibbs. When I finally got there and couldn't find you, I damn near lost it. Then I saw the boat, and blood everywhere, and I didn't know what to do. When I finally found you in the corner, I ...," Tony paused as his emotions took control, forcing him to fight back tears that burned his eyes.

"Hey, it's okay," Gibbs said.

"No, it's my fault you got hurt. I should have been there last night, or at least called you. If I hadn't canceled, you wouldn't have been all alone in the basement. God, I'm so sorry, Jethro," Tony said shaking his head, his voice thick with sincere regret.

And there he was; the loyal St. Bernard that always took the blame for something that wasn't even remotely his fault. Tony already carried a decade's worth of guilt on his broad shoulders, and Gibbs would be damned if he would let him carry this too.

"Tony, look at me," Gibbs requested in a brusk tone just short of demanding. When Tony's pained eyes met his, Gibbs sighed. "Listen to me. There's nothing you could have done. I ignored the weather reports, I knew we were in for bad storms, and I could have gotten somewhere safer, but I didn't. Tony, I got hurt because _I_ ignored my gut, not because you weren't there." Gibbs didn't blink or move a muscle until he knew the point was driven home when Tony nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Hey Gibbs, I hate to bring this up, but have you thought about what you're gonna do? I mean, you're gonna need a place to stay while your house gets rebuilt, right?" Getting an affirmative nod, he continued, "Well, I was thinking, maybe you could stay with me, that is - if you want to. God knows I owe you for all the times you've taken me in. And you know as well as I do the doctors are gonna want someone keeping an eye on you," Tony suggested, purposely leaving the question hanging.

Gibbs had only a few seconds to weigh the pros and cons of accepting Tony's offer. Yes he needed a place to stay, but was it a good idea? Did Tony really want him there 24/7, or was the offer made out of pity? It would be a chance to spend time together exploring the change in their relationship, but was it too much too fast? He wanted time to think about it, but by the look of disappointment on Tony's face, Gibbs knew he was expecting flat-out rejection. Not wanting to add to Tony's mountain of insecurities, Gibbs had his answer.

"If you're sure it's no trouble, I'd like that. Thanks, Tony," Gibbs said with a wink and a nod. His reward was a genuine beaming smile.

A moment later, Dr. Miller knocked and entered the room followed by none other than a smiling Dr. Brad Pitt. Brad almost seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Tony. Each time Tony ended up in the ER, Brad managed to find out about it. Gibbs was actually surprised that he hadn't made an appearance until now.

Tony groaned for effect when he saw Brad and let his head fall back onto his pillow. Gibbs snorted and Brad chuckled.

"That happy to see me, eh DiNozzo?" Brad teased before moving to Gibbs' bed. "Hey, I was just making rounds and heard you were here. Sounds like you had a hell of a night. Thought I'd pop in and say hi and give Dr. Miller a hand, knowing what pains in the ass you two can be. Doc, DiNozzo there is all yours," Brad announced as he snatched Gibbs' chart from Dr. Miller's hand.

"He gonna be okay, Brad," Gibbs asked in a near whisper after Brad peeled the blood pressure cuff from his bicep.

Leaning over him to get a closer look at Gibbs' nearly swollen shut eye, Brad reported, "Gibbs, he's been banged up worse than this. The cut on his leg was deep, but they tell me there was no nerve or tendon damage. They repaired the calf muscle and he should be fine in a couple of weeks. You're the one I'm I worried about. Now sit still and let me have a look at you, then I'll have a nurse bring you an ice pack for that eye."

Gibbs tuned Brad out and watched as Dr. Miller removed the bandages from Tony's leg. Gibbs' eyes went wide at the sight of the neat row of surgical staples binding the skin and underlying tissue together. From Gibbs' vantage point, it looked like Tony's calf was being held closed with a zipper.

"Jesus, DiNozzo," Gibbs exclaimed when he saw the extent of the damage that had been done. It looked infinitely worse than it had earlier when he examined it by flashlight in the darkness of the basement. Gibbs was amazed that despite suffering such an injury, Tony had climbed out the window and back again to get help, kept him safe, secure and warm under the stairs, then helped McGee and Palmer get him to safety.

Gibbs fully expected to hear him to bitch and moan about having "the mother of all scars", but instead Tony seemed to view it as a badge of honor. Tony wore the confident look of pride well, and suddenly Gibbs saw him in a whole new light. He had never questioned Tony's bravery, sense of duty, or his dedication. He never needed to; they were but a few of Tony's most admirable qualities.

Tony DiNozzo was definitely one of a kind; a diamond in the rough at times, but when it counted most, he was the one person Gibbs knew he could always depend on in a dire situation. More times than Gibbs dared to count, Tony had put himself in harm's way to protect someone else, and he had no doubt that if Tony could turn back time, he would step in front of Kate on that rooftop and take the bullet Ari meant for her.

Unable to swallow the lump forming in this throat at that thought, Gibbs coughed. Suddenly, a plastic cup was held in front of him. Gibbs looked up to see Brad smiling down at him and nodding, almost as if he understood the thoughts swirling in his mind. He took the offered cup and frowned at the clear liquid. No amount of glaring or wishing was going to turn it into coffee.

"Don't drink too fast, Gibbs," Brad warned as Gibbs raised the cup to his lips.

"I need coffee," Gibbs grumbled over the rim before taking a tentative sip, followed by another, and another. The cool water soothed his parched throat as he slowly drained the cup dry. He handed the empty cup to Brad with a mumbled "Thanks" as he turned his attention back to Tony.

Doctor Miller redressed Tony's wound, did a routine check of his vital signs, and jotted notes on his chart. Flipping the metal chart cover closed, he announced, "Well, Agent DiNozzo, so far everything looks good, but - I would like to keep you here for a while longer to give the IV antibiotics a chance to really kick in. We replaced the blood you lost, but we need to get some more fluids in you just to make sure your blood pressure stays stable. I don't see any early signs of infection and your temp is normal, so I think we should be able to release you this afternoon. You can stop by the clinic in four to five days to get the staples out."

"Thank God!" Tony declared dramatically. "Nothing personal Doc, but I'm not a big fan of doctors and I really hate hospitals. Hey, think you can spring my boss, too?" he asked hopefully, jerking his thumb in Gibbs' direction.

Gibbs, on the other hand, was not a happy camper at all. Brad concurred with Dr. Miller's plan to keep him admitted at least one more day, or possibly two if he showed any signs of swelling inside his chest cavity from the trauma to his sternum and ribs. Gibbs' less-than-polite argument that he could lay around and "do nothing all damn day pretty much anywhere" fell on deaf ears. The younger doctor grew frustrated and left, leaving Brad behind to try and reason with his stubborn and surly patient. The young nurse that had come in to replace their empty IV bags scurried out quickly after completing her task during Gibbs' tirade.

"Dammit, Gibbs! One more day, _maybe_ two, to give those broken ribs of yours a rest won't kill you, but pushing yourself too hard, too soon just might. Now, I'm going to go out there and tell Dr. Miller that you are going to behave and follow doctor's orders like a normal patient. I swear to God, Gibbs, if we have to sedate you to keep you here for your own good, we'll do it," Brad barked, meeting Gibbs' challenging death glare with one of his own.

Huffing petulantly, Gibbs caught Brad's victory smirk as he turned to leave. As the good doctor reached the door, Tony called out, "Hey Pitt, you better get him some _strong_ coffee, and I mean stat!"

Tony broke into a full belly laugh mere seconds later when Ducky passed Brad in the doorway carrying a cardboard drink holder containing three large beverages and a pile of creamers and sugar packets and a large plastic bag hanging from his arm. Smirking back at Brad's exasperated, disapproving sigh, Gibbs had never been so happy to see Ducky in his life!

"Bradley, it is so good to see you! Tell me, how are our patients this fine morning?" Ducky asked with his customary cheerfulness.

"Doctor Mallard, good morning. Oh, just being their usual charming selves. I'll be back later, but for now I'll leave them to you," Brad replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm before stepping out into the hallway.

Once the heavy door snicked shut, Ducky turned and looked at Gibbs. If he was shocked by Gibbs' current battered state, he didn't let it show. Tony and Gibbs both had frequent flyer status at Bethesda, and Ducky was always able to insert his unsolicited opinion when it came to their treatment.

"I thought you might be needing this, Jethro," Ducky said as he offered Gibbs one of the two large coffees. He dropped the bag on the floor and leaned in for a closer inspection of Gibbs' eye. "My, my, Jethro, that is quite a nasty bruise you have there. Here, drink this and I shall go ask the nurse outside for an icepack."

"Thanks Duck, I owe you one," Gibbs replied with abject gratitude before toasting Ducky's travel mug of Earl Grey tea.

"And Anthony, of course. Here you go, my dear boy. I'll leave you to doctor it to your liking," Ducky chirped as he handed Tony his coffee and a handful of creamers and sugar.

"What's in the bag, Ducky?" Tony asked as he poured three sugar packets and two creamers into his coffee.

Ducky picked up the bag and placed it on Tony's lap. "Ah, Timothy asked me to give this to you. It is your personal effects and a change of clothing for each of you. I've taken the liberty of having the clothes you were wearing last night laundered."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony said as he reached in to retrieve his watch and cell phone.

Ducky left and returned a few minutes later with an icepack which he gently applied to the large bump near Gibbs' left eye. He neatly wound two layers of gauze, which he had nicked from a supply cart next to the nurse's station, around Gibbs' head to keep it in place.

"There, that's more like it. That should help get that nasty swelling down."

Gibbs took a healthy swig of his favorite Starbucks dark roast Colombian blend and moaned in appreciation as the rich, full-bodied flavor danced over his taste buds. If asked, Gibbs would swear that coffee had magical healing power, since he no longer felt the slightest bit of a headache.

Settled in and content after a caffeine fix, Gibbs watched as Ducky pulled one of the world's most uncomfortable plastic chairs from its place in front of the window and placed it between the two beds. Ducky's expression had turned serious, and Gibbs feared even more bad news. He had never thought to ask about Ziva, or Vance, or anyone else in the NCIS family.

"What is it, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

Letting out a melancholy sigh, Ducky replied, "Oh, Jethro. I cannot begin to tell you how very truly sorry I am. I cannot possibly fathom what you have been through, emotionally as well as physically. Just know that we are all here for you should you need us. Why even Director Vance was quite concerned about your well-being, until Timothy and Mr. Palmer briefed him early this morning upon their return. If not for Leon Vance pulling some strings, as they say, well, I hate to think how long it would have taken them to find you. You should be proud of what those young men did. I most certainly am. Mr. Palmer thought it quite an adventure."

"Yeah, well that's one adventure I never want to have again," Tony exclaimed.

"That was some good work they did, Duck," Gibbs said with a nod. "Proud of both of them."

"As I knew you would be. Anyway, our esteemed Director has been in contact with officials on the scene in your neighborhood. It has been left to me to inform you that it has been deemed far too dangerous for you - or anyone for that matter - to attempt to retrieve your belongings. Local police and National Guard troops are keeping a close watch in the most affected parts of the city to prevent looting. Hopefully, in a few days time, we will be allowed to conduct a search and gather up whatever we can safely recover for you. As for the house itself, I am afraid it is damaged beyond repair."

"Yeah, I figured that much," Gibbs stated. He had already made peace with the idea of losing his house, but Ducky's pronouncement made it all too real.

Hearing a quiet sob, Gibbs looked over at Tony. The tears trickling from the corners of Tony's eyes nearly broke his heart. It hadn't really occurred to him until that moment, but Tony was grieving the loss too. Tony had mentioned several times that his house felt more like a home to him than anywhere else. He had equated it with safety and security, and admitted that he loved being there because it was the one place where he always felt welcome. Gibbs wanted nothing more than to wrap Tony in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he had to settle for conveying it with his eyes.

Hearing a softly spoken, "Oh dear," from their visitor, Tony and Gibbs turned their attention back to Ducky. The warm smile that greeted them made Gibbs wonder if they hadn't given themselves away. Ducky had just recently commented that it was good that he and Tony were spending more time together outside of the office. He had noticed over the last couple of years that they had become somewhat distant. If Ducky deduced that there was more going on than their reawakened friendship, he never voiced any concern or opinion.

"I do have one small bit of good news for you, Jethro. Timothy reported that your garage appeared to have suffered only minimal damage. It has been confirmed by a Lieutenant with the National Guard on the scene that your beloved Challenger is safe and sound. I hope this news brings you at least a modicum of comfort. As soon as the streets have been cleared of debris and deemed safe for travel, I am to be notified, and I will personally oversee its recovery," Ducky announced.

That bit of news brought a smile back to Tony's face. Gibbs had to admit, it lifted his spirits a bit as well.

Ducky stood and grabbed Gibbs' chart from where it hung at the foot of his bed. Gibbs could see the wheels turning as he flipped through the pages.

"And speaking of recovery, have you given any thought to where you will stay during yours, and, of course, while decisions are made about rebuilding your home? Of course, you know that you are more than welcome to come stay with me. I have plenty of room, and ..."

"S'ok, Ducky," Tony interrupted. "We've already talked about it. Jeth, uh, I mean Gibbs is going to stay with me, at least for a while anyway."

Ducky tried his best to persuade them that since Tony was also going to be on the mend it would be more prudent to have Gibbs stay with him, but Gibbs cut him off. "You heard the man, Duck. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be bunking at DiNozzo's place. Besides, this way I can keep an eye on him and make sure he follows doctor's orders. Of course, I'm sure you're welcome to drop in and check on us."

* * *

><p>Gibbs knew he was lucky, damn lucky, to be alive. After a light lunch of the standard, bland fare that the hospital passed off as food, Ducky provided running commentary as the three men sat and watched the horrific videos and still pictures play on the small wall-mounted TV at the foot of Gibbs' bed. The "breaking news" banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen told a sad tale: The death toll had risen overnight to twelve, including four small children.<p>

The Weather Channel expert that ZNN was interviewing confirmed that officials were calling the sensationalized "Alexandria Tornado" a strong EF3, which had cut a half-mile wide path of destruction during the fifteen minutes it was on the ground. Dozens of homes and businesses had been completely destroyed, and more than a hundred others had suffered serious damage.

"What about the rest of my team, Duck?" Gibbs asked tiredly. He'd seen enough and switched off the power to the tv. He tossed the remote onto the bedside table.

"All are quite well, Jethro, and I expect they will be in to visit you shortly. I ordered Mr. Palmer and Timothy to get some sleep. They were both exhausted when they returned late last night. Poor Abigail was beside herself with worry until they returned with the news of your timely rescue. Ziva was at home and out of the storm's path. The rest of us, with the exception of you and Anthony, of course, remained at the Navy Yard all night. I've been told that a few of our colleagues suffered damage to their homes, but any reported injuries so far have been minor, thank God."

Gibbs yawned and winced as his chest expanded beneath the tight bandages. He grabbed the control unit by his side and released another dose of morphine. Tony was also losing the fight to stay awake.

"Well, gentlemen, I see you both need your rest so I shall take my leave. I will be back to check on you later," Ducky said softly.

"See 'ya, Duck," Gibbs managed to mumble before he succumbed to sleep.

McGee showed up around 1300 hours, just as Tony was signing his discharge paperwork. Gibbs was grateful that McGee had been alone when Tony called to see if he could pick him up and drive him home. He was tired and in more pain than he wanted to admit, and frankly he wasn't up for dealing with more visitors.

While an orderly helped a grumbling Tony into a wheelchair, Gibbs called McGee over and offered his right hand. "You did good last night, Tim. You made me proud," Gibbs stated with a respectful nod.

"Thanks, Boss. I'm just glad you guys are gonna be okay," McGee replied with a smile as he returned the handshake.

"Just get him home and keep an eye on him, will you? You know how DiNozzo is about following doctor's orders," Gibbs said to McGee while glaring a warning at Tony.

Tony groaned when McGee announced that Abby was already on her way to babysit him.

"Oh that's just great! I see a pedicure and a lot of girl talk in my future. I'm coming back first chance I get, Boss," Tony called over his shoulder as he was wheeled out the door.

* * *

><p>Without Tony there to keep him company, Gibbs slept the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening. Dr. Miller and staff nurses paraded in and out his room at regular intervals during the afternoon to complete the requisite checks on him. Hospital volunteers had been by a few times to deliver flowers and "Get Well" cards from friends and colleagues, and Gibbs was oddly touched by the outpouring of support.<p>

Fornell called to offer his sympathies and promised to visit the next day. Keeping the mood light, he offered to help break him out of the hospital. Gibbs always appreciated the way his friend could dance around the edges even in the most serious of situations. Fornell relied on humor and sarcasm instead of offering empty platitudes, but he did end the call on a sincere note.

"Christ Jethro, you are one tough son-of-a-bitch! Hate to do this 'cuz I don't want to set your recovery back, but I'm supposed to tell you that Diane sends her regards. Look, get some rest. I'll be by in the morning with coffee. Night, Jethro."

It was now 2100 hours, and Gibbs was wide awake and alone with his thoughts. The earlier images from the news footage played over in his mind. So many places that were part of his daily life had been reduced to rubble. His favorite lumber yard was missing most of its roof. The only thing left of the Starbucks he stopped at every morning on his way to work was the large sign, which now lay in the middle of the street. Half of the nearby strip mall had been completely obliterated while the other half appeared unscathed. Such was the unpredictable nature of tornadoes. Nothing up and down the main thoroughfare he traveled looked familiar anymore.

Gibbs turned on the TV and flipped through the channels hoping to find something to distract him. He watched a couple of segments of "CSI" until he got fed up with the unrealistic portrayal of crime scene investigation.

"Yeah right," he commented with a snort. "You try telling Abby that you can match DNA in five minutes."

Surprised to find they offered the The History Channel, he settled in to watch a documentary on the last days of World War II. During a commercial break, Gibbs glanced over at the bed Tony had vacated only a few hours ago and realized how much he missed him being there. He wondered how he was getting along, and part of him hoped that Tony was missing him, too.

It had been a long time since Gibbs actually missed someone and longed to see them again. It was usually enough just to see Tony's smile when he arrived in the bullpen each morning, but now that would never be enough. Gibbs hoped that Tony wanted more of a relationship as much as he did. The thought of coming 'home' with Tony every day both excited and terrified him, but come hell or high water he was going to figure out a way to make it work.

Gibbs was startled when the phone next to his bed rang. He picked up the heavy receiver on the second ring and answered with his usual greeting. "Yeah, Gibbs."

He smiled when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "Hey, Tony. I'm glad you called."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Okay, since a couple of you mentioned her in your reviews, I just had to have Tony compare Eleanor to Nurse Ratched! LOL! Speaking of Eleanor, I am so glad you all liked her. She was so much fun to write! - The Probie<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

**Happy Sunday! We wish to thank you, once again, for your continued support and enthusiasm for this story. We are tremendously humbled by the wonderful thoughts you have shared with us. **

**This is a long one to keep you warm on the shortest day of the year! Happy Holidays!**

* * *

><p>Gibbs was coming to his home.<p>

_His home. _

To stay.

Not for a quick beer. Not for dinner and maybe a showing of 'Platoon' or 'Rio Bravo' if Tony could sneak it in before Jethro's fingers started itching for the wood and sand paper and isolation waiting for him back in his basement.

There was no basement for Gibbs to withdraw to now. No cold beer or dusty bottle of Bourbon waited with the silence and the ghosts to welcome him home at the end of the night. This would be Gibbs' home for now, and the two of them would just have to work that out as they went along.

Tony was beginning to think maybe he should have mulled this whole idea over just a bit more before being so insistent. It wasn't that he didn't want Gibbs staying with him. Well, not exactly anyway. It was more the idea of being in such close proximity to him for hours on end, being surrounded by his smell, his heat, and his increasingly frequent and semi-disturbing casual touches, that made Tony edgy. It was the unshakable thought that he'd be spending whole days with nowhere to run from the _want_ he found it impossible to fight any longer and it just…well, it just scared the ever living hell out of him if he was really being honest with himself.

The even more frightening development, the one that really had his guts twisting and his breath coming in sharp little startled gasps every once in a while, was the look of curiosity and affection he'd seen in Gibbs' eyes since the basement. Those darkly contemplative looks that said Jethro was quietly trying to puzzle out something in his own head and was _almost there. _The looks that had that tiny spark of hope swirling in Tony's stomach and making him think that maybe…maybe, there was just the craziest bit of a reason to let it take hold.

Scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, Tony watched two men in blue jumpsuits from Carl's Mattress Emporium disassemble his small yet functional twin and replace it with a sturdy king that seemed almost monstrous in comparison. He'd managed to sneak out yesterday afternoon when Abby got called in to handle some incoming evidence, and he'd had only one destination in mind. The new bed had slatted head and foot boards of solid oak that matched his single night stand. They were hand crafted and strong enough to meet even Gibbs' harsh inspection.

He'd checked.

Three times.

Tony had scrutinized each seam and groove, looked for the telltale marks of hand tools-skills Gibbs had taught him-that marked this piece as what it claimed to be. It had taken some doing and more than a little bit of extra cash to ensure delivery today along with the new pillow-topped mattress set, but he was running short on time and options.

He couldn't say exactly what it was that prompted the spur of the moment purchase. Tony had already planned to give Gibbs his bed and take a spot on the couch, but he'd found himself unexpectedly standing in his bedroom more than once since he'd returned home. Standing and staring at the space designed so meticulously for one, while his gut screamed at him that the set-up was wholly inadequate for the kind of life he suddenly found parts of himself secretly contemplating when the rest of his brain wasn't looking.

Maybe a double bed or a Queen would have made more sense as a stepping stone, but in his head a king seemed the logical choice. As used to sleeping alone as he was, Tony had no confidence that even if he found someone worthy and wanting to share his bed he'd be able to eke out a decent night's sleep with another body tangled around him. In part, the idea was appealing, but there were certain practicalities to be considered as well. A king sized bed seemed…safe. If Tony found himself wanting to flee, he only needed to roll over into another hemisphere and he could pretend he was completely alone.

Of course it wasn't like that was a situation that was going to present itself in the immediate future. At least that's what he kept firmly telling the controller of the widescreen at the back of his head that insisted on projecting the image of Gibbs fucking the every living hell out of him atop those new crisp, white sheets. Fucking him while Tony held tight to those thick wood slats and came and came and came until there was nothing left.

It certainly wasn't his first fantasy involving Gibbs, but this one was a bit more persistent and kept popping up at very inopportune moments where he had to work like hell to keep his dick in check.

Looking at his watch, Tony glanced nervously at the door. The swapping of the beds was taking a bit longer than he had anticipated and Tim and Abby were due back with a list of supplies they'd insisted on picking up for him since Tony had been ordered to stay off his leg and keep it elevated as much as possible for at least another day.

As if on cue, he heard a faint ruckus outside his door and the sound of, what appeared to be, more than one bag of groceries colliding with the hallway carpet. Rolling his eyes and starting for the entryway, Tony made it most of the way to the landing before McGee, Abby, and several unbalanced and slightly damaged looking parcels burst through his front door and barely avoided landing in a large heap at his feet.

"Tony! You're not supposed to be up," Abby admonished as she righted herself and shed her bags one at a time.

"And last time I checked, you weren't my mother or my doctor," Tony said steadily as he arched a brow. Two days and he was already more than a little tired of being coddled.

"Anthony DiNozzo, do not make me tie you to that chair, because you know I can and you know I will." She clumped down the steps and moved toward him with a raised finger.

Tony surrendered with a dramatic sigh knowing that most of his irritation had to do with his own frayed nerves rather than Abby's over attentiveness. He really didn't have it in him to fight right now. "I've been keeping it up the whole time you were gone, Abbs. Don't worry." He submitted placidly to the hand on his forehead that checked for fever.

"Good. Because I left my ropes back at my apartment and you know how I feel about settling for sub-standard equipment." She smiled prettily, winked, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, seemingly satisfied that he wasn't actively dying at that precise moment.

"Uh, Tony? What's going on in your bedroom?" McGee pointed toward where the two workmen were just finishing up while Abby moved past them into the kitchen.

"Oh." Tony fought hard to keep the heat from rising into his cheeks. "There was a sale. A couple weeks ago. Almost forgot about it being delivered with everything else going on," he lied smoothly. "Been looking for a new bed for a while."

"Uh huh." Tim sounded completely unconvinced.

"What? Can't a man want to spread out a little in his own bed?" Tony knew he should probably let it drop but couldn't bring himself to do so.

"So you're telling me the fact that you've suddenly switched from the world's tiniest bed to…that thing," Tim gestured toward the now set-up king," has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Gibbs is coming to stay here?" He looked at Tony calmly, as if begging him to deny it.

"You get hit on the head during that storm too, Probie? You're talking crazy." Tony's eyes kept straying back to the bedroom guiltily even as he refuted Tim's assertion. "Listen, Gibbs is injured. He needs a comfortable place to sleep while he heals. He gets the bed. I get the couch. End of story. So don't go starting crazy rumors McGossipGirl."

McGee shrugged. "Tell yourself whatever you want, Tony. I saw the way he was looking at you when we found you. I saw the way you were looking at him too. Abby says she's seen it for a long time but if I hadn't…If I hadn't seen him touch you like that…If I hadn't seen that photo in his wallet." Tim shook his head. "I don't even know how to feel about it, but there's something there, Tony, and denying it isn't going to make it just go away."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Tim." Tony's voice was quiet this time, almost regretful. "It was like in the movie, 'Speed', where Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves have all that sexual tension because they're staring down death and running for their lives? But it's just the heat of the moment. The adrenalin rush. They know it won't last. It's not real." His inner fears were making themselves known out loud now, and to the most unlikely of sources.

"But _we_ face down death together every damn day, Tony, and Gibbs doesn't look at me or Ziva like he was looking at you that night. I know what I saw. Maybe I know more than you do." McGee shrugged and walked into the kitchen to join Abby in the unpacking process, leaving a speechless Tony in his wake.

* * *

><p>Abby squinted at both men as they slunk up to the counter in turn. "What?"<p>

"Nothing," the two of them said in unison, and then looked at each other, clearly surprised by the mutually tight-lipped response.

Abby looked from Tony to McGee, obviously aware that something had passed between them and waiting for one or the other to come out with it.

After a tense moment and a quick side-glance at Tim, Tony cleared his throat. "So, were you able to get everything on the list?" He hoped his not-so-subtle segue was a signal that he wasn't open to a discussion at the moment.

Abby's face lit up triumphantly and she quickly moved past her suspicions. "Almost everything. Still have half a car full downstairs." She looked pointedly at McGee who rolled his eyes but departed without argument.

"It was really sweet of you to think of all those things, you know," Abby said as soon as they heard the front door close firmly behind Tim. Her eyes got all big and dewy as she laid a hand on Tony's upper arm. "I know Gibbs will be really touched that you did all of this for him, Tony, even if he doesn't exactly say it. Even if he _can't _say it." She bit her lip, clearly debating something. "Tim said that when he found you, the two of you looked like you were…together, a little more than usual. He said Gibbs held your hand." She was unable to keep the edge of excitement from creeping into her voice.

"Don't." Tony shook his head. "We were both scared and relieved to get out of there alive, Abby. Don't let McGee make it into more than it was."

"What was it, Tony?" she pressed gently. "I mean, all the things you had me buy? You'd have to care pretty deeply about someone to think of all that. Don't tell me…"

"He doesn't have anything, Abby," Tony interrupted. He was desperate to steer the conversation in a different direction. "I just wanted him to feel at home, that's all. Just let it go, okay?"

Abby nodded reluctantly but not before she gave his arm a decidedly sympathetic squeeze.

"What about the rest of the list?" Tony started poking into the open bags on the counter.

"Well, they were totally out of the farmer's bread you wanted so I got sourdough instead. I got all the fresh fruit from that market you told me about off of H street, and we even made it to Little Italy for the fresh pasta." She ticked off items as she unpacked. "We found the shower chair and all the bath stuff and totally stocked you up on bandages and other first aid supplies."

"Thanks, Abbs. I mean it. I couldn't have gotten all of this done without you. And McGee too, of course," Tony said sincerely.

Abby looked at him uncertainly from beneath dark lashes. "Tony, are you really sure you can handle this on your own? You're still not completely on your feet and Gibbs is going to need someone to help him with all kinds of things, _really _help him, Tony. And he's gonna be stubborn and try to do way too much himself, you know that, right?" Her hand kept returning to his arm as if his physical presence was reassuring. "Why don't you let Ducky or I stay with you both, at least for the first couple of days."

It was unlike Abby to be so completely serious and Tony now understood that she'd sent McGee running on purpose. "We're both gonna be fine, Abbs. Only thing I need to do for myself is change bandages and remember to take pills, something I've had a lot of practice at over the years. I can take care of whatever Gibbs needs. I already talked to his doctor about it. Where do you think the list came from?" He was still a little nervous about the help Dr. Miller and the nursing staff had said Gibbs would need with bathing and dressing but Tony assumed that would sort itself out one way or another. "I promise I'll let you know if it's too much," he reassured her sincerely.

Abby sighed, clearly realizing that any further discussion was moot. "Okay, but we're all here if you need us."

"I know, Abbs." Tony leaned in and kissed her cheek fondly before he let her return to the unpacking. This was the most food he'd had in his place since the disastrous incident with his father a few years back. He wasn't exactly sure where they were going to fit it all.

"So, about that bed?" Abby quirked a wicked smile and artfully dodged Tony's smack to her bottom as she turned for the refrigerator.

* * *

><p>Tony stared out his living room window at the sun-dappled shadows of the street below. When he'd returned home yesterday, he'd been grateful to find that the power had been restored. Parts of the city were still shut down completely including Gibbs' neighborhood and the areas around it, but most of DC was moving on, picking itself up, and dusting off quite nicely.<p>

His sense of time was woefully off-kilter. Less than 72 hours ago he'd stood at this window watching the approaching storm, thinking of Gibbs, head heavy with guilt, regret, and wanting. Time had crawled for him since that moment and Tony had to keep reminding himself that the rest of the world had moved at a normal pace while he had been stuck in other-worldly slow motion.

Below him, people rushed by, scurried home like usual, walked their dogs, carried packages, every one of them unaware that a profound shift had taken place in his universe since he'd last stood here gazing down at them.

Already there had been change. The door to Tony's heart was still far from wide open, but now a sliver of light shone through and illuminated the dusty and barren corners whose emptiness had become so familiar to him, he'd nearly forgotten their promise and purpose. He allowed his thoughts to linger a bit longer on Jethro now, to dwell without the guilt and shame and fear that had so colored his imaginings before a few days ago.

Change.

The word represented so many things all wrapped up in two tiny but efficient syllables. For Tony, change was hope. Change was fear. It was all of the things he told himself could live without at the same time it was the stuff that colored the dreams he would never admit to having. Change was the enemy of the perfect world of contented illusion he had created around himself. It was the catapult that would bring down his walls even as he surrendered. And yet he was almost hungry for it now, starving for the touch and the smell and the taste of change after fighting against it for so long.

_Maybe I want things to change…I know what we're talking about, Tony. _

Those words kept repeating in a stubborn loop in his head. Did Gibbs really know? Was it really what he wanted? Was it really what Tony wanted? There were so many questions that needed answering. So many that he was afraid to ask.

The knock on the door drew him out of his reverie with a start and he realized his breathing and heart rate had both sped up.

Like it or not, change had come to call for good or ill.

Tony ran a nervous hand through his hair as he stood before the door, schooled his features, and ushered in a smiling Ducky and a not-so-smiling Gibbs.

Gibbs was limping heavily on a bulky cast around the lower part of his injured leg. He looked tired and there was a tightness around his eyes that Tony didn't like. While he didn't appear to be in any discomfort when walking, his gait was awkward and Tony could almost hear the grumbling going on inside his head.

Tony's eyes drank in Gibbs from head to toe, lingering on the bandages around his temple, the yellowing bruises on the side of his face, the unnatural stiffness to his upper body that came from his bound up ribs, the brace that circled his wrist and looped over his thumb. All the while, the little checklist that had become so important to him during their time in the basement and immediately after repeated itself in Tony's head. _He is whole. He is breathing. He is here. _

Tony's breath hitched at the distinct softening he detected around Jethro's eyes the moment the other man caught him in his appraisal. There was that curiosity again, the slight cock of Gibbs' head, the new and unmistakable interest that lit an instant fire in Tony's belly.

It took a few moments for Tony to realize that Ducky had been talking since he and Gibbs had come through the door and he shook himself out of his temporary haze to focus on the ME's rapid fire instructions.

"The bandages are to be changed twice per day. If there is no significant drainage you can switch to butterfly bandages alone in a day or so. As for the sutures on his arm and leg, those should stay as dry as possible, though patting with a soft cloth during a shower is fine provided you dry them thoroughly and redress them. They'll come out in another week or so." He turned to Gibbs and raised a finger. "And no taking them out yourself this time, Jethro. I mean it," he admonished sternly. "Anthony, I trust you know how to monitor for signs of infection?" Ducky's eyes went from one man to the other, clearly aware now of the heaviness hanging between them.

Tony's eyes strayed back to Gibbs who was still gazing at him in ponderous silence.

"Yes, well. I've written everything else down on an easy schedule for you," Ducky said with a trace of doubt when his query returned no response. "I do still wish you'd reconsider and let someone stay and keep an eye on both of you for a few days." He looked hopefully from Tony to Gibbs.

"I think we're good, Duck," Gibbs said without breaking eye contact with Tony.

"Right then," the ME said somewhat awkwardly. "I'll just leave these medications on the kitchen counter and get out of your way. _After_ I check Anthony's wound, of course. " He arched an eyebrow as he walked away shaking his head and muttering something about the universal stubbornness of man.

"So I should probably go and…" Tony stuck his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen, but he was absolutely mesmerized by the fact that Gibbs refused to avert his gaze.

"Probably," Gibbs said steadily. Whole volumes could have been filled with the words that weren't passing between them in that moment.

After what felt like hours but were probably mere seconds, Tony somehow managed to shake himself loose from the weight of Gibbs' gaze and follow Ducky into the kitchen with only a few backward glances. He caught up with the ME just as he finished placing a pile of tubes and pill containers in a well-ordered row along with a neatly penned sheet of instructions and timetables. Tony didn't miss the slightly disapproving stare. "I'll take care of him, Ducky. I promise."

Ducky drew himself up to his full height and managed to look as menacing as Tony had ever seen him. "You'd better. And yourself as well, Tony. Or you'll have me to answer to."

Tony was pretty sure they weren't just talking about caring for Gibbs' wounds any longer. He nodded his understanding of Ducky's larger implication, grey-green eyes steady and unflinching despite his nerves.

Ducky seemed slightly more satisfied. "He'll need to take these in the next hour. Preferably with some food if you can talk him into it." He held forth one of the many bottles.

"If there's one thing I can do, it's food." Tony brightened a little, indicating the countertops around them that overflowed with baked goods and fruit.

"Having enjoyed many a fine meal of yours, I've no doubt of your particular skills in that area. Or several others, in fact." He clapped a stunned Tony on the back. "Now, let's have a look at that leg, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Gibbs had watched as Ducky changed Tony's bandages and announced that the wound seemed to be healing quickly now that it was properly closed up.<p>

"DiNozzos always heal quickly," Tony quipped.

"I'd still keep it dry for the next day or so. It's likely to become quite itchy as it heals further so use some of the hydrocortisone cream if it becomes intolerable but keep your hands off," Ducky warned. "I'll come back and check both of you tomorrow unless I hear something in the meantime, but if you continue to do as well as you are, Tony, I'd say I could take the staples out for you in another few days and replace them with butterfly bandages."

Tony didn't miss the relieved look on Gibbs' face at Ducky's pronouncement. There was something else there too, something he didn't understand. Guilt, maybe? But that didn't make sense.

He didn't have long to dwell on it, however, as Ducky gathered his things and departed. He walked the ME to the elevator, only to return to his apartment and find that Gibbs had disappeared.

It didn't take Tony long to hear the muffled curses and sounds of rattling pill bottles from his kitchen. He found Gibbs at the counter wrestling wearily with a child-proof lid. It appeared that the brace on his wrist and hand was making the container fairly Gibbs-proof as well.

"Let me help you." Tony quickly stepped in and tried to grab the bottle from Gibbs who turned away from him.

"I got it," Gibbs argued stubbornly.

Tony took a breath, realizing this was likely the first of many confrontations of this sort to come. "You don't have it, Gibbs. Listen, part of you staying here is letting me help you, and if we have to go rounds every time you need to take a pill, one of us is going to shoot the other one before the week is out."

Jethro's mouth hardened in frustration and his fingers flexed around the plastic lid, but he didn't protest further.

Taking a chance and resting his hand lightly on Gibbs' wrist, Tony tried again. "Let me help you," he said gently.

Gibbs blinked at him for a moment but whether he was surprised by Tony's bold insistence or his tenderness was an impossible read. With a barely perceptible nod, he handed over the container.

"How many?" The bottle in his hand was only over-the-counter pain reliever but Tony knew he had just won a pretty major battle.

"Three," Gibbs said shortly. "Two of this one." He handed Tony a second bottle and waited.

A moment later, Tony watched while Gibbs downed three Excedrin and his antibiotics with some water, rubbing his eyes as he set the glass back down on the counter to the accompanying clink of fine crystal.

Tony pushed a banana into Gibbs' hand, remembering his instructions from earlier. "Ducky says you need to take those with food."

"Don't suppose there's any point in arguing this one either?" Gibbs sighed, seemingly resigned to his fate as he rubbed at his temple for a moment before peeling the barely ripe fruit.

"Headache?" Tony asked lamely, trying to keep his eyes off of Gibbs' mouth as the other man devoured the rather phallic fruit in 3 efficient bites. _Holy fuck. _Tony bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood and still felt his cock give an undeniable twitch. _Crackers. Next time he would give Gibbs crackers. _

Gibbs nodded. "'M fine," he said as he swallowed. "Just need to close my eyes for few minutes. Couch will do." He dropped the peel in the bin near the center island and headed back into the living room before Tony's hand on his arm brought him to an abrupt halt. Gibbs looked at the fingers wrapped gently around his bicep and then up at Tony with an arched brow.

"You can take my bed…the bed, Gibbs." Tony let his hand drop away, afraid he may have overstepped his bounds just a little. "And don't argue. Ducky might not have noticed, but I've seen you favoring your ribs since you came through the door. I won't have you sleeping on my couch in your condition." He was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not someone you gave orders to under most any circumstance but maybe he was feeling heady with confidence after his victory a moment ago.

Grunting at Tony's insistence, Gibbs did look slightly relieved by the thought. "Need to hit the head first. Pumped me full of so many fluids in that damn hospital I think my eyeballs are floating. You're not gonna try and help me with that too, are you?"

"Think you can take that one on your own, Boss." Tony grinned, happy to see bits of their normal banter shining through after a few awkward moments. "Though I do have something to show you."

Tony was moving just a little faster than Gibbs and was glad that he reached the doors separating his bedroom from the main living area first. His fingers hesitated on the knob but he managed the semblance of nonchalance as he drew the door open and made way for Gibbs. Tony nearly bowled the other man over when he stopped just inside.

Gibbs didn't say a word but it was clear he had noticed the change in décor immediately. He'd been to Tony's apartment often enough to know that a twin bed was standard fare and the bed that now filled half the room was a significant deviation from the status quo as well as a very recent addition.

Unable to ignore the slight widening of Gibbs' eyes as they lit on the new bed, Tony waited for the inevitable. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, however, when Gibbs merely quirked an amused grin, gave a low chuckle, and then trudged off to the attached bathroom.

"What in the hell is this?" Gibbs' bellow from the en suite startled Tony a moment later.

"Uh, is it safe to come in, Gibbs?" Tony hesitated at the door.

"Get the hell in here, DiNozzo."

Pushing the door open, Tony found Gibbs examining the chair that now inhabited his walk-in shower. "It's for you. The people from the hospital said you would need…"

"I can stand up for five minutes in the shower, Tony," Gibbs interrupted with a grumble, though some of the fire had gone out of his initial blow up.

"Not without getting your cast all wet," Tony argued. "And you can't bend down with your ribs like that so they said I'd probably…uh, that I'd probably have to help you." The last bit came out in a rush.

"They did, huh?" Gibbs had gone from anger to obvious amusement in the space of a sentence.

"Well, they said you could get someone to come in and help but I thought…"

"You thought you'd do it yourself," Gibbs finished.

"I have the number to call and schedule someone if you want," Tony offered, hoping the disappointment didn't show in his voice.

"Nah. You're right. This is better. Guess this thing isn't so bad." He wiggled the chair back and forth, testing its sturdiness. "Any other surprises I should know about before we get there?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Tony.

"Open that drawer." Tony pointed to a space below the vanity. For some reason his heart was suddenly in his throat.

Gibbs pulled the handle and let the drawer slide open smoothly. His face was unreadable as he took in the contents. "You did this?"

"Thought you might need a few things to feel at home." Tony had painstakingly recreated the contents of the drawer in Gibbs' own bathroom in his home, right down to the other man's favorite brands of toothpaste, deodorant, shaving soap, comb, and razors. The toothbrush he'd had Abby pick up was even the same color and brand.

"How did you…" Jethro seemed unable to complete the sentence and swallowed hard.

"You trained me, Gibbs. How many times have I stayed the night over the years? Did you really think you could let me loose in your house without me doing some investigating?" Tony tried to keep it light but it was obvious Gibbs was moved by the gesture.

"What else?" Gibbs seemed to instinctively know there was more.

Tony pushed himself off the wall where he had been leaning and led the way to the long dresser that lined one side of the bedroom. "Here." He pulled open two drawers. "Couldn't bring myself to shop at Sears even for you, Gibbs, but I tried to stick with your style.

One drawer contained boxers in assorted colors and soft, white t-shirts, the same cut Gibbs always wore despite Tony's secret desire that the other man develop a liking for V-necks. The other, larger drawer held several folded polo shirts, a couple pairs of sweats and wide-legged jeans to accommodate his cast, and the thing Tony had been the most insistent about, a red, hooded sweatshirt with the Marine's logo, the twin of which now rested somewhere in the rubble of Gibbs' house.

Watching as Gibbs slowly ran his hands over each item in turn and then finally drew out the red sweatshirt, Tony almost felt like he should give him a moment alone. He cleared his throat awkwardly to break the silence that had fallen. "There are khakis and a couple other shirts in the closet. I washed everything. Well, actuality I had Zuzu at the laundry down the street wash everything, but either way, it's all clean and ready to wear."

"You shouldn't have done this, Tony." Jethro's voice was quiet, thick.

"You needed things, Gibbs. You needed things and I needed to do this for you." Tony wasn't exactly sure how to explain and the words coming from his mouth felt wholly inadequate to the moment. "I want you to think of this as your home. For however long you need it to be, okay? That means you get drawers. You get drawers and a bed and closet space and whatever else you need, understand?"

Gibbs didn't respond. When he'd moved aside the sweatshirt, the last of Tony's little surprises had been revealed and his hands dipped back into the drawer to remove the bone handled carving knife and shapeless chunk of wood that lay hidden beneath.

"Oh." Tony shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably. "I didn't have time to build you a basement, so I did the best I could," he said softly, feeling the lump growing to fill his throat as Gibbs' fingers caressed the smooth grain of the wood. He watched as the other man slowly and reverently placed both items atop the sweatshirt then turned to him with searching eyes.

The fingers of Gibbs' good hand found their way without hesitation into the soft hair at the back of Tony's head as he stepped close and drew him into a loose embrace.

Tony didn't know what in the hell was happening but he wasn't about to argue. The feel of Gibbs' palm at his nape, of the other man's body pressed warm and solid against him, brought satisfaction and relief he didn't even know he'd been craving. Mindful of Gibbs' injuries, he placed his hands gingerly on Jethro's hips and let the moment happen. He felt dampness against his neck, felt the warmth of Gibbs' breath against his jaw, his throat, his pulse.

"Thank you, Tony." Gibbs whispered brokenly, lips pressed tight to the curve of his ear.

A few moments later they separated a bit gracelessly, and Tony had to swipe quickly at his own eyes to keep his emotions in check. "The uh…the sheets are clean and everything. I wasn't sure how many pillows you would need but there are a few extra in the closet if you want more. Let me just…" Tony moved to pull back the covers and then turned to Gibbs. "What else can I do?"

"Think you've done more than enough, Tony. Just give me a hand getting in?"

Gibbs actually asking for his help caught Tony by surprise and he nodded lamely as Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed with a wince.

He waited as Tony slid his shoe off and helped him swing both legs up onto the bed with minimal bending of his upper body.

"Ribs?" Tony guessed as Gibbs drew a hissing breath at the movement.

"Hurt like a son of a bitch. I'd give up breathing right now if I could, but I've hurt worse." He let Tony help arrange pillows behind him so that he was semi-propped up.

"Sure you don't want something stronger for the pain? You've got a whole pharmacy out there." If Gibbs was showing this much discomfort, Tony knew he must be in agony.

Jethro shook his head. "Meds will kick in in a minute. Like having my head clear for now." He relaxed back with a deep groan and closed his eyes.

"I'll just be in the other room if you need anything." Tony's eyes raked down Gibbs' body, reluctant to give up the undeniably pleasant sight of him in his new bed.

"Stay for a minute?" Gibbs' voice was tired and his eyes only half-opened, but the request was clear.

"If you want me to." Tony moved closer to the side of the bed, unsure exactly what was being asked of him.

"Here." Jethro's hand moved to the spot on his other side atop the mattress.

"You sure? I don't want to move the bed. You almost look comfortable." Gibbs' face definitely looked more peaceful than Tony had seen it in the last few days.

"More comfortable when you're close. Hurts less," Gibbs said sleepily.

Mind reeling from the shock of that casual admission, Tony moved slowly around the bed and crawled up to settle on his side a respectable distance from Gibbs. "This okay?"

"Fine." Gibbs' eyes remained closed.

Tony was almost certain Gibbs had fallen asleep until he spoke again a moment later.

"You gonna tell me what's with this bed, Tony?"

A dozen witty retorts and half-truths ran through Tony's head. "Sometimes you need a change," he answered softly, watching Gibbs' face for any reaction.

Jethro turned his head slowly and contemplated Tony through half-lidded eyes. "Sometimes you do." Gibbs' hand found Tony's atop the sheet and twined their fingers loosely as his eyes drifted shut.

* * *

><p>Tony was in trouble.<p>

He woke with a start to a semi-dark room after clearly dosing off despite his best intentions. Tony had no idea how long he'd slept, but judging by the deep amber color of the light, it must have been at least two hours since Gibbs had so casually taken his hand and drifted off to sleep.

His hand was cold now, Gibbs' fingers gone, but he could tell by the way the mattress sloped away on one side that he was not alone. Raising his head, Tony found slightly sleepy blue eyes studying him from a few inches away.

Bolting upright, Tony came fully awake in an instant. "Sorry, Gibbs. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you." He was off the bed and on his feet before the words finished falling from his lips.

"'S okay. You needed to sleep. So did I." Gibbs didn't move. He merely watched Tony fidget nervously around the room.

"But I shouldn't have. Not in your bed." Tony was talking and words were coming out but his mind was racing with the thought that this was _Gibbs_ in his _bed. _A bed Tony had been in himself until a moment ago.

"Seems like there was more than enough room. Slept better than I have in days." Gibbs stretched as much as his body would allow. "That a problem for you?"

Tony's feet were suddenly rooted to the hardwood. "It's not a problem for you?" he asked incredulously.

"No," Gibbs said steadily, "it's not."

They watched each other across the intervening space. A thousand questions were rolling around Tony's brain but he couldn't bring himself to ask them. Not yet. "It's late," he muttered when he trusted his words again. "I should probably get us some dinner."

Gibbs let the diversion hang there a moment and finally nodded, pushing himself up awkwardly from the mound of his pillows. "Dinner would be good," he agreed, allowing the discussion of sleeping arrangements to come to a close for the time being.

Tony kept dinner simple. Steak and potatoes, done just the way Gibbs liked. Tony didn't have a fireplace that was good for cooking, but he'd learned to adapt with a cast-iron pan and gas stove and Gibbs didn't seem to have any problem bolting it down. He had rolled his eyes just a bit when Tony'd delivered the meat pre-cut to avoid watching him struggle with his splinted hand.

It seemed odd to be eating at a table. So often they sat side by side on Gibbs' living room couch, or hunched over plates while leaning against the kitchen counter. Now he had time to watch, had time to become mesmerized by the way Gibbs' full lips curled almost delicately around his fork, how the muscles of his jaw stretched, and the long column of his throat bobbed with each bite. Tony's mouth was watering and he was pretty sure it wasn't entirely due to the food.

The silence that had been happily filled with the sound of scraped plates and chewing grew heavier as their plates were emptied. Once Tony had cleared away the slim remnants, it was Gibbs who took the lead.

"Suppose we should probably have that talk before things go too much further," Jethro announced without preamble.

The words stopped Tony in his tracks as he came out of the kitchen and the irony that it would be Gibbs to say them was not at all lost. "We don't have to. It can wait."

"Don't think it can. And I don't want it to."

Tony's dinner was threatening to make a rapid exit and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his churning gut. He swallowed the dryness in his mouth and nodded, waiting for Gibbs as they moved into the living room.

Gibbs chose a spot in the center of the couch leaving Tony no choice but to go to either side. He pulled in the ottoman so Gibbs could prop up his leg and then hugged the arm rest as he awkwardly settled into his own position, body turned toward Jethro.

Tony had never seen Gibbs nervous before but there was no denying that the other man seemed slightly more fidgety than normal. He watched as Gibbs rubbed the palm of his open hand against his jeans as if drying it, picked at an imagined piece of lint on the back of the couch, and finally looked anywhere but at Tony before finally clearing his throat.

"I may have gotten hit on the head, and I may have passed out a few times, but I remember the important parts about the other night, Tony. Don't think I would forget about that." Gibbs head came up as the words settled between them. So much for easing into things. Gibbs had just chosen to dive right into the deep end.

"Think part of me was hoping you might," Tony admitted.

"Meant what I said," Gibbs said simply. "Know you did too. And don't try to blow it off as some adrenalin-fueled, heat-of-the-moment bullshit. We know each other too well for that."

Leave it to Gibbs to call his bluff before he could even make it. "I did mean it. Wish I'd had the balls to tell you before you almost went and died on me though."

"Wish I'd had the balls to tell you I already knew," Gibbs answered quietly.

As awed as he was by Gibbs' candor and the rapid-fire way he kept dropping little bombs that shook his very foundations, Tony found that his eyes kept drifting invariably to Jethro's mouth every time the other man spoke. He licked his lips unconsciously and tried to steer his mind away from the feel of that little parcel of skin against his own and the taste that still inhabited his memory. Talk. This moment was about talking.

"I would have died in that house if you hadn't come when you did, Tony. Don't think I don't know it and don't think I'll ever forget it." Gibbs' hand came to rest lightly against Tony's thigh. "But if something more comes out of it, I can't say I'm completely sorry it had to happen."

"I kissed you," Tony blurted out. The warmth of Jethro's hand through thick denim sent his head spinning and his lips moving before he had a chance to even think about what he was saying.

"Excuse me?" Gibbs looked at Tony as if he had just grown a third head.

"I kissed you, Gibbs. Back in the house? I mean, I'm not even sure if it counts because you weren't exactly conscious at the time and I just…"

"You just kissed me?" Jethro finished incredulously.

"Yeah." Tony drew back as far as he could from Gibbs without actually moving off the couch and waited.

"And what the hell are you doing now?" If Gibbs was confused by Tony's sudden admission he seemed doubly confused by his current behavior.

"Uh…waiting for you to hit me? Or maybe kill me?" Tony looked at Gibbs through a half open eye, still flinching.

"Jesus, I'm not gonna hit you, Tony. Relax." Jethro ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a deep breath.

"You're not?" Tony relaxed, but reluctantly, assuming this must be some kind of clever ruse on Gibbs' part.

"No."

"And no killing either? Not even when I'm sleeping later? It was just a spur of the moment thing, Gibbs, and I _swear_ I'll never do it again. I just thought you might be…well, I thought you might be dying and…" Tony really wanted to stop his mouth from moving but he didn't seem to have the ability right now.

"How?" Gibbs interrupted.

"How, what?" Tony blinked at him.

"How did you kiss me?"

"How did I..? Why the hell does that matter? I just did it. And I'm really sorry. Did I mention how sorry I was?" This had to be the most bizarre moment of his life. _Had_ to.

"Show me." The instruction was steady and clear.

"Show you..?" Tony's head felt thick and muddled. Surely Gibbs couldn't be asking him what it sounded like he was asking him.

"Show me how you kissed me," Jethro's voice was deep and heavy, laced with desire and more than a hint of curiosity and amusement.

"Like, on my hand or something?" The world was spinning. Tony really needed the world to stop spinning.

"On my mouth, for Christ sake, DiNozzo. You need a written invitation? Or maybe I should just pass out again." Gibbs hadn't moved but his body language was somehow more relaxed, more open than it had been. An invitation of sorts all on its own.

"Is this a trick?" Tony asked with wary, narrowed eyes. He wanted desperately to believe this was happening but his mind simply refused to accept.

"No tricks. Just hardly seems fair that you got to have a kiss I can't even remember." He placed his hand back on Tony's thigh.

"Well, I suppose when you put it that way…" Tony started with a smile of playboy bravado but it quickly wilted under the heat in Gibbs' eyes. _Oh. _

Leaning forward somewhat awkwardly and completely unsure what to do with his hands, Tony placed an arm over the back of the couch to support himself, figuring it was probably the safest bet at the moment. His body tensed as he moved closer…closer…mere inches from Gibbs' face now. The other man hadn't moved but remained passive, lips slightly parted in apparent anticipation. At the last second Tony closed his eyes, closed the distance, and prayed.

If kissing Gibbs while he was unconscious had been memorable, kissing him while he was awake, soft and welcoming, and oh so warm was absolutely dizzying. Tony tried to keep in mind the seriousness of that first embrace, to keep his hands from finding their way automatically into Gibbs' hair, but as Jethro's breath ghosted across his lips, the hand against his thigh crept just that much higher, control was a hard won thing.

Keeping a tight grip on his racier impulses, Tony brushed his lips gently across Gibbs' mouth in a few tender yet fairly chaste sweeps and then drew back just enough to gauge Jethro's reaction.

"That how you kiss a dying man?" Gibbs muttered hotly against his open mouth, fingers curling against Tony's thigh.

"You had something else in mind?" Tony asked breathlessly, unable to keep the corners of his lips from turning up just slightly or his cock from thickening in his jeans.

Gibbs gave a surprisingly needy grunt and pressed his hand up over Tony's stomach to clasp the loose material of his shirt and pull him close. The collision of their mouths was more forceful this time, though Tony was clearly being mindful of his injuries and holding back.

When Tony felt the soft velvet of Gibbs' tongue brush his lips, he opened obediently, sank into the inviting heat of Jethro's mouth, and finally let his fingers wander where they wanted. The velvety stubble at Gibbs' nape drew his fingertips like a magnet as did the cut of his jaw, the perfect shell of his ear, the throb of his pulse. Tony wanted touch on a grander scale but he would settle for this micro-universe for the moment as long as it meant Gibbs kept kissing him like he was the most delicious feast he'd every devoured.

Blood pounded in Tony's ears and his cock had gone from shyly interested to painfully hard the moment Gibbs' fingers had slipped between the buttons of his shirt and found his heated skin. He was so caught up in it that he couldn't stop the little noise of disappointment that escaped when Jethro suddenly pulled back.

"The door," Gibbs murmured against Tony's open mouth, still nipping playfully at his lips.

"What door?" He swiped his nose against Jethro's cheek.

"Your door. Someone's knocking." Gibbs finally pulled away with obvious reluctance, smiling as his eyes lit on Tony's lap and the noticeable bulge beneath the stiff denim.

"They'll go away." Tony leaned forward toward Gibbs again even as the insistent pounding resumed.

"Doesn't seem so." Gibbs was far too amused by what was happening for Tony's liking.

With a deep sigh, Tony pushed himself up off the couch. "No moving until I get rid of them," he said pointedly to Gibbs.

"Not going anywhere. You might want to…" Gibbs gestured toward Tony's obscenely protruding erection.

Blushing furiously, Tony adjusted himself as best as he could, succeeding only in adding to Gibbs' obvious entertainment. Giving up and untucking his shirt, he moved toward the entryway where light but persistent knocking continued intermittently. "Coming," he called, scowling at Gibbs with an 'I hope you're happy' look as he nearly tripped up the landing in his befuddlement.

"This had really better be good," Tony muttered under his breath as he yanked the door open.

_Shit._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you so much for reading!<em>**

**_Kat and Probie_**

**_**bonus points to anyone who can identify the brief and obscure West Wing reference I dropped in here**_**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Hope everyone survived their holidays! _**

**_We apologize for the week delay in posting but with all the merriment there just wasn't as much time for writing! _**

**_Please accept this next long chapter as a way to appease your longing and thank you to all who guessed about who the surprise visitor was. _**

* * *

><p><em>Shit.<em>

"Hey neighbor." Brian's four alarm smile widened as he greeted Tony from where his six foot two inch frame leaned casually against the door jam.

"Oh…hey." Tony fought the urge to look back into the apartment and gauge Gibbs' reaction to his inopportune visitor. His mind kicked into action as a deep wave of guilt swept through him and made his hardon a distant memory. In all of the tumult, he'd pushed the scooter and its quietly sexy owner to the very back of his mind. "Listen, I know I should have called you sooner. I was going to. I'm really sorry."

Brian held up his hand to dismiss his apology. "Got a call from an impound lot in Alexandria where they took vehicles that had to be cleared away for the clean-up. Everything's fine. Sounds like you took good care of her. Honestly I was more worried about you. Glad to see you're alright." His concern seemed genuine. "I _may_ have been worried enough to look for your name in the hospital's patient registry. Was relieved when I didn't find it. Then your neighbor across the hall just happened to mention you'd been brought home yesterday and I thought I would come and see for myself."

"I was at Bethesda," Tony offered, not even sure why the information was important.

"But you're okay?" Brian went from relaxed to apparent doctor mode.

"Some bruises. Staples in my leg from a cut. Nothing permanent." Tony shrugged. He really wanted this conversation over fast. "So really, we're good with the bike?"

"I just need to get down there before the end of the week, pay a couple fines, and I'll have her back on the road for the rest of the summer," Brian answered.

"I'll take care of all the fines. And any damages. Really, I owe you at least that much." Tony truly was grateful and he couldn't help feeling like he'd totally taken advantage of the situation to suit his own ends.

"Did it help you get to that friend you were so worried about? Was he alright?"

"It did. And he is, but it was a close call. He might not have been if it wasn't for you. I mean that." Tony realized he owed Brian a hell of a lot more than a thank you and some fines.

"Then it was worth it. Listen, I don't want to keep you. Just wanted to check and see if you were okay. Maybe I could give you a hand with a few things if you need it? Been a long time since I gave a patient a sponge bath but I'm pretty sure I could remember with the proper motivation." Brian flirted hopefully, making no attempt to hide his perusal down the length of Tony's body.

"I've got friends helping me, but I'll keep that in mind." Tony wanted to kick himself for even halfway flirting in return but it was flirting on instinct rather than with intent. It was too much a part of who he was to rein it in completely. "My friend…my boss, actually, is staying here for a while. His house was pretty much totaled. So really, I'm fine." He wanted nothing more than to get rid of Brian and get back to Gibbs but he felt like a shit just blowing him off.

"Oh." Brian deflated just a little. "Well, whenever you're feeling up to it, I'd still like to collect on that dinner. Think we'd have a good time together. And I've been told I'm a hell of a cook. Besides, I'd love to hear your heroic tale of rescue." His eyes lit up.

"Dinner, right." Tony tried to think of a way to politely decline but he honestly had no idea what was going on with Gibbs and his sense of obligation to the complete stranger who had stepped in to help save his life was weighing pretty heavily. "That sounds…that sounds great," he said finally, tongue flying in the face of his better instincts.

"I'm off early night after tomorrow. Is that too soon?" It was clear Brian was trying his best not to sound over enthusiastic but he was failing pretty miserably. Under different circumstances Tony might have found his eager puppy dog eyes endearing, maybe even a little hot, considering the promises riding just below their surface, but for now he was just really uncomfortable.

"No. That's good. Should I bring something?" There was no harm in polite. He could do polite.

"Just an appetite. Does six work for you?"

"Don't think I'll be cleared to go back to work for a few more days so, sure, six it is." Tony considered this the end of the conversation but Brian still seemed to be waiting for something more.

"I'd invite you in for a drink or something but…"

"But you've got company," Brian finished with a nod and then flashed that dazzling grin again. "I'll see you Wednesday, Tony."

Tony couldn't miss the fact that Brian sauntered when he turned and walked back down the hall. The man might be unassuming in his sexiness but he was damn well aware of it. Taking a deep breath, he brought his head back to what was important and slowly closed the door.

_Gibbs. _

"I'm really sorry about that. I didn't…" Tony turned and quickly realized he was talking to an empty room. The implication of that hit him like a punch to the gut.

Since Gibbs couldn't run away, there were only so many places he could have retreated to, and it didn't take Tony long to rule out the bedroom and bathroom and follow the sound of running water to the darkened kitchen.

He found Gibbs against the island, hunched over the row of pill bottles. The slump of his shoulders spoke volumes. Tony held a hand out, wanted to touch, to resume the contact of a few moments ago even if it was in an innocent sweep of fingers down the curve of Gibbs' spine, but he hesitated a few millimeters away from the caress, feeling the heat of the other man's skin kissing his palm.

"Hey. Thought you said you weren't going anywhere?" Tony kept the accusation out of it but not his disappointment.

"You have some friendly neighbors," Gibbs said stiffly.

The flat tone immediately brought Tony's hand back to his side. So, that was what had caused the little disappearing act. There was a tiny selfish part of him that thrilled to the jealousy it implied, but the larger part just wanted to fix it, and fast.

"Gibbs," Tony said quietly. "He's just my neighbor. He did me a favor. A big favor. A favor that is responsible for you standing in my kitchen right now, I might add. But that's all. I don't know what you're thinking, but whatever it is, it's wrong."

Gibbs took a shallow breath, another, didn't move, didn't turn, didn't give. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Tony." The words were tight, not angry exactly, but emotionally closed off.

"Seems like maybe I do, Jethro." He chose the familiar deliberately. Tony was pretty sure making out on his couch gave him the right to at least that much tonight.

"Not feeling so great. Think maybe I over did things today. Gonna head to bed." Gibbs handed Tony one of the more potent pain killers from the arrangement of meds. "Open this." It wasn't a question.

"Are you…should I call Ducky? You don't have a fever or anything, do you?" He reached a hand out to Gibbs' forehead and the mostly clinical touch was admitted with obvious reluctance. To Tony's relief, the skin beneath his palm was cool.

Gibbs shrugged off the touch after a few brief seconds. "Just need to sleep. Put my leg up. I'll see you in the morning." He took the pain pills Tony offered as well as the dose of antibiotics he shook out into his hand after consulting Ducky's notes.

Tony watched in frustration as Gibbs got a glass of water and headed for the bedroom without another word. He knew the other man well enough to quit while he was ahead, to let whatever was playing out in Jethro's head settle for the night. He knew not to push.

_Jesus, he wanted to push. _

It took everything Tony had not to follow, to wait the few minutes it took for Gibbs to complete his night time rituals and the slight creak of the bathroom door that announced his exit.

Tony did move then, moved soundlessly even on the leg that was definitely telling him he hadn't rested enough today, padded silently across the hardwoods and into the bedroom. He found Gibbs waiting at the edge of the bed in T-shirt and boxers, waiting for the help he'd known instinctively would come. Waiting for the help Tony knew he resented in this moment, tonight so much more than earlier.

The room was dark but Tony flipped on the light on the nightstand, reached into the drawer where he'd tucked away some of the first aid supplies, and drew out what he would need.

"Just need to go to bed, Tony. That can wait until morning." Gibbs' tone hadn't warmed at all since the kitchen.

"Ducky's schedule says to do this before bed. I'm doing it before bed. You want to argue, argue with him, but if you want _me_ to tell him it didn't get done properly, you're gonna have to fight me and, no offense, Gibbs, I'm pretty sure I could take you right now." Tony kept his voice light but held onto the blue of Gibbs' eyes and made sure the other man knew he wasn't backing down.

"Fine." It was more of a grunt of acquiescence that a distinct pronunciation.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I need to lift up your shirt," Tony said matter-of-factly.

"What the hell for?" This had at least broken Gibbs out of his deadpan act.

"I'm supposed to check for any swelling or inflammation around your ribs." Tony waited wisely for approval.

Gibbs didn't respond when Tony's fingers moved tentatively for the thin fabric, but he didn't stop him either.

Holding his breath without realizing it, Tony gingerly lifted the thin cotton up above Gibbs sternum and instantly felt his stomach clench. Jethro's skin was a mass of yellow and purple bruises from chest to hip on one side and Tony suspected the discoloration went all the way to his shoulder and perhaps below the line of his boxers. "Gibbs." His breath came out in a sigh of sympathy.

"Just get this over with, DiNozzo. And just…be careful."

Tony was almost afraid to touch him. Gibbs might be the toughest bastard he knew, but no one could take this kind of a beating without some pretty serious pain. Gingerly and with the greatest care, he ran his fingers down the side of Gibbs' body with the most damage, looking for anything out of the ordinary in comparison to the other side. Apart from the greater discoloration, he couldn't find anything that looked emergent. "Any pain when you're breathing?"

"What the hell do you think," Jethro growled.

"Any more pain than you've been having, I guess," Tony quickly clarified, letting Gibbs' t-shirt fall back into place.

"Not really," Gibbs gave in grudgingly.

"Good. That's good. So…I guess maybe get into bed and then I can do the rest?" He suggested.

"Fine."

Tony'd been in enough shitty relationships to know that two "fines" in a short time period meant things were anything other than fine. Especially when those "fines" were coming from someone you were making out with on your couch a half hour ago.

After helping get Gibbs settled and propped semi-upright in bed, Tony made short work of re-dressing his leg and then moved to the bandages wrapped around his temple. His fingertips grazed lightly against Jethro's skin as he bared the wound and dabbed at it with a clean piece of gauze. The stitches looked dry and, while Tony was no expert, it seemed to be closing up well. "Looks pretty good." He tried to ignore the fact that Gibbs flinched from his touch just slightly.

"I heal quick." Gibbs met his eyes for the space of just a few heartbeats but Tony couldn't get a read on him.

"Gibbs." Tony quietly tried to open the door that had been shut to him so quickly and deliberately earlier.

"Don't. I just…not tonight." There was a tiny space where the wall came down but it was back up again in the space of one breath. "Just finish up so I can try and get some sleep."

Tony could see that Gibbs' eyes were going a little glassy from the pain killers so he did as requested, securing a clean bandage around Gibbs' temple with a minimum of fuss. "All done," he announced gently as Jethro's lids fell closed.

"Good, grab the light," Gibbs murmured sleepily.

Snapping off the bedside lamp and tossing bandages and paper in the trash beside him, Tony waited for Gibbs to make a move, waited to see if an invitation would be extended as it had been earlier.

"See you in the morning, DiNozzo." The dismissal was abrupt and clear.

Tony hesitated and then decided that he really didn't have anything to lose. If he was lucky, maybe the pain killers would keep Gibbs from remembering this in the morning. "I know you're pissed at me, or hurt, or confused, or whatever the hell you are right now, Jethro, but you shouldn't be. You shouldn't be because he's just my neighbor, and more than that, he helped me save your life. So you can go to bed being a dick to me and beating yourself up for something you think is true, or you can think about what's important."

He took a deep breath. He knew Gibbs was still with him, was still listening, but even if he wasn't, Tony didn't know if he could have stopped. "That kiss was _amazing_, Jethro. I mean seriously hot. I've been thinking about that for so long…_so_ long, and you know what? It was better than I imagined. It was _better_. And I know you thought so too. So that's what's important to me. That's what I'm going to lay awake thinking about for awhile and that's the memory I'm going to fall asleep to. Not all the shitty stuff that came after."

Realizing his voice had gently crescendoed through this impromptu speech, Tony tried to get a grip on himself and bring it back under control. "So yeah, I'll see you in the morning. And tomorrow you have to let me back in Gibbs. You have to." His fingers brushed lightly against Jethro's where they rested atop the bedspread as he took his leave. "Because this is just too important."

Not waiting any longer for a response and not expecting one tonight, Tony went quickly to the closet and retrieved the extra pillows and a blanket, then headed for the couch without a backwards glance.

* * *

><p>Tony woke to the sound of some sort of miniature avalanche in his kitchen followed by muffled cursing. Memory washed away the thin skin of his dreams and he wiped the sleep from his eyes, sitting up with a groan at his protesting muscles.<p>

Padding into the kitchen, he was unsurprised to find Gibbs glaring daggers at his high-end coffee maker, as if the stare alone would force it to start brewing.

"Sorry. Should have programmed it last night," Tony said around a bone-cracking yawn.

"How in the hell do you work this thing? And what are all these buttons for?" Gibbs growled. "I couldn't even find your grinder. Was about to start chewing the damn beans."

"Grinder's in the top. Here, let me do it." Tony moved in close, pressing Gibbs into the corner and leaving him without an obvious path of retreat.

"Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?" Gibbs handed him the beans and Tony knew he must have noticed that he'd gone out of his way to get the special blend Jethro subsisted on most of the time.

"Only complicated if you want it to be," Tony said as he poured the beans into the top chute and pressed the sole button on the top of the machine, setting off a high-pitched whirring and sending the delicious aroma of fresh-ground coffee to fill the air around them. "You put water in already?"

"That much I figured out." Gibbs' voice had lost some of its frostiness from the night before and Tony desperately hoped what remained was simply due to the other man's lack of caffeination.

"Then you just press this," Tony stabbed quickly at a button that said 'Brew' in bold letters, "and wait." Gibbs hadn't moved and he was close enough to feel the heat from the other man's body.

"That simple, huh? Why have all this other crap, then?" His eyes glued longingly to the slowly rising line on the carafe even as he gestured to the panel of buttons on the front of the machine.

"Well, it makes espresso, cappuccino, a few other things I never took the time to learn. It gives you options." He didn't really care that the conversation was about something as inane as a coffee maker. At least it was conversation. "Just use it for coffee most mornings though. That part is simple."

"Don't need options, Tony. I know what I like. Once I figure it out, it doesn't change much." Gibbs' palm was pressed flat to the countertop and Tony saw his fingers curl just a little, noted the tightness.

"We still talking about coffee, Jethro?" Tony asked quietly, eyes boring into the side of the other man's head, willing him to turn.

Gibbs continued to stare at the line on the coffee pot, jaw muscles flexing, nostrils flaring with barely restrained tension.

Tony gave him time but it was clear no response was forthcoming. "He's just my neighbor, Jethro. I don't know what else to say to make you believe that."

"He's a neighbor you have a dinner date with tomorrow night."

"Only because I owe him."

"Not because he's an easy option if figuring this out gets tough?" Gibbs did look at Tony then, blue eyes searching deep, burrowing inside.

Tony had never been in a spot like this with someone who knew the inside of his head so intimately, who knew what made him tick, what made him strong, and what made him scared. It was more than a little intimidating to realize exactly where Gibbs' head had gotten to with Brian, what kind of lines he had drawn between Tony's own history and insecurities and this would-be suitor. But regardless of just how insightful the conclusions and accusations might be, it didn't change his firm answer. "He's not."

Gibbs didn't move even though the coffee pot signaled that brewing was complete, but Tony thought he saw the other man's shoulders drop a fraction of an inch now that Gibbs had said what he'd clearly needed to say and perhaps found enough honesty in his answer for momentary reassurance.

"He's not, Jethro." Tony risked laying a hand on Gibbs' upper arm this time and was thankful when it wasn't shrugged off. "I agreed to dinner before I knew that there was even a _possibility_ of something to work out between us. Hell, four days ago you were my boss and my friend that I had inconveniently developed inappropriate feelings for. Accepting a really big favor in return for a dinner date didn't seem like that big of a deal. If I'd thought for one second that you'd even _care_ who I was having dinner with, I wouldn't have agreed in the first place. But I did, and I owe him, and I'm not backing out of it now. Whatever the hell happens between us, you're going to have to trust that dinner can be just dinner for me, no matter who it's with."

Tony pulled up to his full 6'2" and still felt like he was shrinking beneath the weight of Gibbs' stare.

"You done?" Gibbs asked steadily, his tone at odds with the intensity of his gaze, though Tony thought he saw that puzzled curiosity creeping back in around its edges.

"Think so." He'd done all he could do, said all that he could say. Anything more would be counterproductive to his point.

"So I can drink my coffee in peace, now?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

Tony fought the smile that tugged at the side of his mouth. This was a good sign.

"Guess so," he answered. Without letting his eyes stray from Gibbs', Tony reached into a cupboard just behind the other man's head, leaned in until their bodies were inches apart, mouths and lips far too close for comfort, and retrieved two oversized coffee mugs.

Gibbs didn't shift, didn't flinch, didn't try to retreat from the close contact, but he didn't move to touch either.

After lingering a few seconds longer than were necessary, a few more just for good measure, and a few more after that simply because he liked the way Gibbs' skin smelled, Tony finally pulled back and set the cups on the counter.

Eyeing Tony a little warily, Gibbs filled a cup, and, after a moment of hesitation, filled the second one too. Hot coffee now in hand, he moved slowly out of the three-quarters cage created by the countertop and Tony's body.

"Tony?"

He almost jumped out of his skin when Gibbs' splinted hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. "Yeah?" Tony asked hopefully.

"You need a shower." Gibbs walked toward the dining room without another word, leaving Tony smiling in his wake.

* * *

><p>"Well, it looks as if the two of you have survived the night at least. I'll admit I had one or two doubts." Ducky bustled into the apartment with a few bags under his arms including his leather medical kit.<p>

They had survived. And now that they seemed to have come to at least a passing understanding over the very inconvenient interruption from the night before and Tony's forthcoming dinner date, they'd settled into the kind of comfortable silence that had so often surrounded their time together at Gibbs' home.

Tony'd cooked eggs and toast for breakfast. Nothing fancy, but it occurred to him that he knew how Gibbs liked his eggs as well as he knew how Gibbs took his coffee. Just two of the seemingly unimportant little details about the man he had gathered, sorted, and filed away over the years of their acquaintance.

At breakfast they'd divided up the morning paper, Tony taking the business section and Gibbs the sports page. It hadn't taken Tony long to notice Gibbs squinting at the fine print and realize the several pairs of reading glasses he kept at work and around his house were all miles away. Tony'd made a quick excuse of checking the Yankees score from the night before and stolen the section, remarking aloud on scores he knew were important to Gibbs to save the other man the effort.

If nothing else, the move had led to a heated discussion about pitching replacements, the dismal Met's season, and the expanding strike zone which had _almost_ felt like normal.

After breakfast, Gibbs had dug out the carving knife and wood that Tony had gotten for him and settled onto the couch, struggling to find the right technique with his injured hand but somehow managing to make it work.

Tony had decided a James Bond marathon of his own making was the perfect way to pass their enforced days off of work. They'd made it all the way to _Goldfinger_ with no complaints from Gibbs when Ducky'd called to say he was on his way over to check up on both of them.

All in all, it hadn't been a bad day.

"Come on, Duck. Give us some credit," Gibbs said around a wince as the ME poked and prodded. "I'm sure it will be at least another day until I'm ready to shoot him."

Tony watched Ducky's examination with interest, watched Gibbs' chest expand and contract, expand and contract, as the ME listened to his lungs from different angles. His jaw twitched at every well concealed flinch from Jethro. Tony hated seeing him in pain even if it was necessary pain.

"I suppose you're doing as well as can be expected, Jethro. I don't see any marked inflammation and your lungs sound clear." He packed away his stethoscope. "I'm quite impressed with the bandaging you've done here, Tony. Perhaps you missed a calling as a medical professional."

"Think I'll stick with chasing the bad guys, Ducky." He quickly moved his gaze elsewhere when Gibbs caught him watching a little too intently.

"Yes, about that," Ducky said tentatively. "Once I'm able to remove the staples from Tony's wound I can clear him to return to work on restricted duty. Unfortunately, Jethro, with the injuries to your ribs, I'm afraid it will likely be at least another week, perhaps more before I'll feel comfortable with you even sitting at a desk and reading files for a day."

"You can't keep me prisoner here, Duck. I came back to work three days after getting shot in the shoulder," Gibbs argued.

"Yes, and in that case we could sew the tissues back together and immobilize your arm, Jethro. I can't splint your ribs without risk of pneumonia, and if you're chasing down the Director and running back and forth to the lab all day, they'll never heal properly," the ME explained with only a touch of exasperation, knowing a quarrel with Gibbs was likely pointless.

Gibbs didn't argue further but it was clear his brain was already working out some way to go around Ducky's restrictions.

"If there's nothing else I can do for either of you this afternoon, I've promised a full report to your team in order to keep them from beating down your door." Ducky began to assemble his bags.

"Think we'll make it another night," Gibbs caught Tony's eye.

"Then I shall see you both tomorrow. And with any luck at all, Timothy will have some news about your house by then. You'd be very proud of both he and Ziva, Jethro. The two of them make a surprisingly formidable team when necessary." Ducky donned his hat, a ubiquitous accessory even in the summer heat.

"Never had a doubt, Duck."

Gibbs had remained seated on the couch and for the first time in the last hour, Tony felt his presence was actually useful as he saw the other man to the door

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"You need help, Gibbs."

"It's just a damn shower, Tony. I've taken a million of them."

"Not with your leg in a cast, your hand in a splint, and four cracked ribs. I'm not going to be the one to tell Ducky you punctured a lung because you were being a big baby," Tony said with just a touch of impatience and a momentary pang of anxiety that the 'big baby' comment was a little over the top. They were revisiting Gibbs' aversion to the shower chair and, more specifically, Tony's assistance, for the fourth time today. Tony had brought up the necessity of showering several times and Gibbs had shrugged him off with a 'later' on each occasion. Now it _was_ later and Tony was really ready to get the whole process over with so they could get on to the next argument.

Silence greeted him from the other side of the closed bathroom door for a few moments, followed by the tiny click of the lock unlatching. Tony took a deep breath and grasped the knob, pushing into the room slowly and cautiously. He found Gibbs leaning against the counter in boxers and his t-shirt, holding the large plastic bag and accompanying rubber band which Ducky had supplied to cover his cast.

"Couldn't get the damn thing on," Gibbs grumbled, pushing the bag toward Tony.

"It's okay, I can do it." He stayed where he was, waited for Gibbs to be more comfortable with his presence in the room. In truth, Tony was freaking the hell out about sharing this mundane yet wholly intimate act with Gibbs. He was trying his best to keep a more clinical mindset about it, to think 'what would Ducky do?' but every time he thought of his hands sliding across bare, wet flesh, his thoughts were anything but clinical.

"How do you want to do this?" Gibbs head jerked toward the shower.

"I guess you should probably take off your, uh, your clothes." Tony gestured to Jethro's top and bottom halves in turn, willing the blood not to rush to his face.

"What about you?" Gibbs slowly began to work his t-shirt over his head, moving and bending minimally.

"What about me?" Tony's head came up quick.

"You gonna get in the shower in your jeans?" Gibbs looked more amused than pissed now.

"Already showered today." _Naked. In the shower. With Gibbs_. The thought was both tantalizing and terrifying but with the added complication of both their injuries, it was likely to be downright frustrating.

"So you'll get another one. You know how many Marines I've showered with in my time, Tony? You really think you've got something I haven't seen before? Besides, not like I haven't seen you naked a dozen times in the locker rooms."

"Yeah, but that was before," Tony argued without thinking.

"Before, what?"

"Before you kissed the hell out of me on my living room couch, Jethro." The words just came tumbling out and Tony wished he could reel them back in. Nothing like giving Gibbs a little more ammunition.

"Don't think either of us is up for shower sex today, Tony. Doubt you have anything to worry about." Gibbs smirked, actually _smirked_ at the fact that Tony's jaw was nearly on the ground.

The fact that Gibbs' mind had gone there, _there_, so nonchalantly had Tony's hands shaking just a little as he unwound the gauze from his forehead and gently helped remove the splint from his injured wrist.

He carefully removed and folded his own jeans and sweatshirt, set them on the counter next to Gibbs' clothes and watched out of the corner of his eye as Jethro carefully sloughed off his boxers and took a seat in the shower.

Tony grabbed the bag and rubber band from the counter, leaving his own final layer of clothing on until after this bit was finished. Once in the shower he removed the hand-held nozzle from its mount and turned on the water to let it warm up. As he knelt down to cover Gibbs' cast, he was immensely grateful that the other man had draped a hand towel across his lap, whether out of some sense of modestly or for Tony's comfort. Gibbs caught his eyes as he stood.

"You don't have to do this, Tony," he said quietly, speaking just above the sound of the running water.

"I know." Tony's fingers ghosted over Gibbs' shoulder as he stepped over the tiled lip of the stall and through the still-open glass door.

With a last deep breath, Tony removed the remainder of his clothing and moved back to the shower where swirling eddies of steam were beginning to gather. He was careful to stay behind Gibbs, not trusting his eyes to stick to the safer parts of the other man's body and definitely not trusting his cock to behave if Gibbs started looking. Not quite sure where to start, he silently tested the water against his arm and adjusted the temperature until it felt comfortable.

"Guess I should probably work from the top down, huh?" Tony reached for the bottle of shampoo on the corner shelf and poured a small bit into his hand.

"Makes sense." Gibbs kept staring straight ahead.

"Might want to close your eyes for this part. Don't think I've ever washed someone's hair before." Tony carefully dampened the top of Gibbs' head and worked his fingers gently into the silver strands, mindful of his injuries. A few seconds into the process, he froze at a deep groan from Gibbs.

"Don't stop. Feels good. First real shower I've had in days." He hummed in obvious pleasure as Tony's fingertips worked against his scalp.

Tony was concentrating really hard on the top of Gibbs' head and trying desperately to remember to breathe, but the sounds Jethro was making had his cock swelling despite his best efforts. The brush of his fingertips over the curve of Gibbs' ear might have been a bit more drawn out than necessary, and perhaps the way he lingered at the juncture of his neck and shoulders wasn't helping things, but he was addicted to the moans and groans each sweep of his hands elicited.

Finally, Tony rinsed the soap down Gibbs' back and down the drain, then grabbed for one of the towels he'd slung over the shower door, using it to blot the stitches dry. Thus far, he'd managed to avoid getting his own wounds damp and he began to wonder if Gibbs insistence that he remove his clothes was simply a clever ruse to get him naked.

"Okay?" Tony inquired.

"Okay," Gibbs confirmed.

If the top of Gibbs' head had been fraught with temptation, moving on to his back was an exercise in restraint. Gibbs angled as far forward as his ribs would comfortably let him, and Tony saw that the mottled bruising from his chest wrapped all the way around his torso and colored the broad expanse of his back.

"Tell me if I hurt you." Tony's jaw was tight as he ran a soapy washcloth over the seemingly endless acres of smooth of skin. His fingers were absolutely itching to touch, to explore, to trace the curve of Gibbs' spine, the arch of his lower back, but his fear kept him in check. Mostly. As he neared the end it was impossible not to give in to the desire to chase the soapy trails over Gibbs' shoulder blades and down his flanks. He kept his touch light, undemanding, but he felt muscle flutter and bunch beneath his fingertips despite his gentleness.

Gibbs sat up and put an end to Tony's explorations. "Think I can do the front." His voice had a quality Tony didn't recognize.

He handed the washcloth to Gibbs over his shoulder and tried to will his very interested cock back into submission. Ducky was wrong. Tony would have made a terrible nurse.

"Can't reach this leg." Gibbs' frustrated tone brought Tony out of his head a moment later.

Tony tried to come up with some excuse, _any _excuse, that would save him the humiliation he was about to endure. "I've, uh…I've got a little situation back here, Gibbs." The heat in his cheeks towered over the heat of the shower.

"Well get over it so we can get this done." Gibbs passed the washcloth back to him.

He wanted Gibbs. Tony knew there was nothing to be ashamed about in that. He just wished his libido had better timing. With an erection that didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon and his shoulders pushed back in feigned confidence, Tony stepped into Gibbs line of sight and dropped his hands to his sides. "Sorry, Jethro." He managed not to sound sheepish about it. "Hurt or not, my body knows it's you."

Gibbs' eyes darkened and raked over Tony from shoulders to hips. "Don't ever apologize to me for that again," he said tightly, pulling the wet, heavy towel from his lap to reveal his own cock, long, thickened and twitching restlessly against his thigh.

"Jethro." Tony's hand curled around the washcloth in his grip as his belly muscles tightened with a flush of desire so strong he actually took a step toward Gibbs before he could stop himself.

"We can't." Gibbs shook his head as his fingers ghosted over his ribs as if reminding himself of the need for restraint. "Doesn't mean it's not on my mind, Tony."

Doing his very best to keep from grinning like an idiot, and holding a tight grip on his baser instincts, Tony dropped to his knees on the tile and made short work of reaching the spots Gibbs' injuries prevented him getting to on his own. When his fingers snuck a little further up a well-muscled thigh than was absolutely necessary, Gibbs didn't stop him, but as the other man's breathing picked up, he was quickly reminded of the need for caution and pulled back to help Gibbs stand.

"Last bit." Tony moved in close, soap laden hand moving over Gibbs' hip. He kept his body angled slightly away, kept just a bare inch of space between them. He hesitated then, waited to see if Gibbs would stop him from taking this last liberty, but no protest was forthcoming.

Tony's hands circled Jethro's waist, skated over the softly furred skin of his firm bottom and began to move in slow circles. He could tell Gibbs was fighting to control his breathing, felt the other man's uninjured hand skim his hip and sink into the muscle of his ass.

It was Gibbs who moved just a hair closer, closed the distance enough rub his dick up and down against Tony's erection in teasing invitation.

Tony's fingers curled, sending the soap clattering to the floor and skittering into the distant corner. He bent his head to growl his frustration against Gibbs' neck. "Not fair," he choked out.

"I know." Gibbs finally pulled away.

"We're not gonna fight about showers anymore, are we?" Tony rinsed them both, turned off the water and handed Gibbs a towel.

"Don't think we are, no." Gibbs' smile lit up the small space even through the steam.

"Good. Because I kind of like this arrangement. Not the sexual frustration part, obviously, but the rest. The rest was pretty nice."

"It was," Gibbs agreed. There was just the slightest hesitation and he appeared to struggle with something momentarily before shaking it off. "You coming?" He asked as he carefully picked up his clothes under one arm and headed for the door.

Tony hesitated just outside the stall of the shower looking a little uncomfortable. "I'll be there. I, uh…I just need a couple minutes to take care of this." He gestured awkwardly to the un-waned erection that tented his towel.

Gibbs' amused laughter followed him out the door.

* * *

><p>When Tony joined Gibbs in the bedroom, it was impossible not to miss the tiredness around his eyes.<p>

"You take the pills?" Tony had laid out Gibbs' antibiotics as well as the stronger dose of pain meds he seemed to prefer to help him sleep.

"Yeah." Gibbs was waiting beside the bed, having somehow managed to get into clean underclothes on his own.

What sent a tiny thrill through Tony's very recently self-pleasured body, was the fact that Gibbs had already taken the time to turn down both sides of the bed. It was an invitation he would accept gladly.

Tony re-dressed all of Gibbs' wounds and helped the other man into bed. He colored at a few passing jabs from Jethro about his inability to wholly suppress the ecstatic moans of pleasure which had filtered through the bathroom door when he came into his slicked-up fist thinking about Gibbs' cock sliding over his own.

When Tony finally flipped off the light, each one of his muscles felt heavy and he was thankful that Gibbs' eyes had already fallen closed. Tony crawled carefully up onto the mattress and settled into the position beside Gibbs which had felt so right the day before.

He was just about to drift off when Jethro's voice dragged him back. "You're right. This is important."

So Gibbs had been listening last night. "I think so," Tony agreed.

"Are you still having dinner with him tomorrow?" The words were flat with barely concealed pain.

"Gibbs…" Tony opened his eyes to find Gibbs gazing at him in the darkness. He couldn't do this now, didn't want to go to sleep having this fight again, but the hurt from the other man sent his heart into his throat.

"Goodnight, Tony." Gibbs voice wasn't exactly cold, but it was certainly dismissive and he turned away as abruptly as his tender ribs would allow.

"Goodnight, Jethro." Tony echoed quietly, wanting desperately to reach out but understanding that the door was closed for the night. They'd made progress today, miles of it, and there was always tomorrow to try again.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all for reading!<strong>

**P.S. Since no one guessed, I must not have any West Wing fans among our readers. If you're curious, the reference was in Zuzu the dry cleaner and was from the S1 episode 'Take This Sabbath Day'. **


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